


The Butterfly Effect

by abovetheserpentine



Series: The Chaos Theory [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death In Dream, Drama, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-04-29 18:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5137505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheserpentine/pseuds/abovetheserpentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every action has a consequence. For Hermione Granger, Cedric Diggory bears consequences no one could have thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Simplicity

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2010. I was 17. I am now 22, and hoping to continue. And who said fanfic writers don't come back to their fics? Pfft!
> 
> I will add tags as the story progresses.

**PREFACE**

It had started as something simple, something so different she couldn't deny it. But then it grew, which was fine in any normal circumstance. But this wasn't normal – far from it, in fact. She was meddling with everything there was to meddle with and no one had stopped her. Granted, they'd maybe tried, but she had been too deep in. And she still was.

Wasn't this all for the best? She thought it was. It was why she didn't resist - why she had  _encouraged_  it, even – in the first place. Everything was meant to be simple. It was meant to be nice and simple and normal and everything was meant to be  _right_.

But oh how things change.

They were here, all of them. And Merlin, she had made them come, practically begged them. Just to get a taste, just to use it in defence. Her blood boiled at the thought of herself, and she almost wanted to empty her stomach right there on the dark, cold stone floor. As Hermione looked around her, she realised it was entirely plausible to do so and not be noticed. No one, not even now, took any notice of her. It had always been like this. It was probably why she was who she was now.

Had Hermione been more aware of where she was and the people around her, she would have seen the light coming toward her. She would have been able to defend herself readily. The spell flying in her direction would have been nothing against a strong  _protego_  from her sturdy wand.

There was the slight problem, however, that she was not aware of her surroundings, or her peers. Someone was, though. Someone who she had taken for granted ever since she'd known him – someone who was just about to do the same for her as she'd done for him.

This time she saw it, she saw it as it encased his body in bright light. It was over as quickly as it had flown toward them, and the three involved stood still. The battle raged on around them and still no one noticed her. Or him. She shouldn't have been surprised, but she couldn't help it. The expression came across her face before she could realise, and she stared at his back, which was facing her, in confusion. He stumbled, taking a couple of steps back – and she moved aside, just on reflex. When his shoed feet hit the step behind him, he lost his balance. And almost, as if in slow motion but Hermione knew that was definitely not the case, he was falling. So slowly, and so gracefully. Her eyes flickered to what was behind him, and she tried to move her body to help him, save him, make him  _hers_. Her pale hand was thrust out, and suddenly everything sped up as if on fast forward. His fingers enclosed hers, and she felt herself relax in relief. But then he was slipping, the calloused fingers sliding against her palm. He moved his other arm behind him to weaken the impact of his fall, but he felt no surface. They both looked to the hand, and saw that it was past the cloth, and had gone through the floor as if he were a ghost. He looked back at her as his hand fell away completely and she lost her grip. Horrified, she moved forward to grab him; his clothes slipped through her fingers like he was but an illusion.

And as Hermione stared at his shocked face, she knew.

There was no way she could save him this time.

 

**\---**

 

**CHAPTER ONE**

 

A bushy head of hair was shaking, its owner's hand scribbling furiously against yellowed parchment with a feather quill. One would normally question the use of such an old-fashioned writing apparatus by someone so seemingly normal. But this girl was anything but normal. In fact, she was Hermione Granger, resident bookworm of the house Gryffindor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; definitely not normal.

As she scrawled and scrawled and scrawled, she thought. She thought about the past year and most importantly, she thought about the next. There was a feeling that had overcome her over the summer – that the worst was yet to come. And that was not a good feeling to have if you were Hermione.

The feeling settled around her when she was doing chores, doing her homework, reading, in bed, in the shower – anywhere and everywhere, it followed her. Like a shadow, and definitely as dark as one in the figurative sense. She wanted to know why, of all people, this ominous feeling took over  _her_. Wasn't it enough that last year had been both a blessing and a curse? Both heaven and hell? And yet again, this year would be, too?

"Hermione! Dinner's on the table!"

The shrill yell of her mother broke her thoughts, and she threw down her quill in frustration, staring at the page before her. Her passion for school work was gone and she had tried aimlessly all summer to get it back. It was most unlike her, and she was afraid it meant something more than her growing sick of being a goody two-shoes. After the past year, everything was different, and Hermione couldn't help the feeling that it was for the worse, despite the circumstances she now found herself in.

Cedric Diggory was not something simple at all.

She pushed back her chair, the metal scraping harshly against the wooden floor. She felt and heard the scrunching of paper underneath her weight and chose to ignore it – thinking about her increasing messiness was not taking on a positive outlook for the summer, something which she had vowed she would do. Legs groaning from lack of use, Hermione rose tiredly and made her way down the stairs so that she could quell her hunger pains.

Eating slowly, as she had taken to doing during her times of musing, Hermione ignored her parents' idle chatter and thought about the note still burning a hole in her favourite jacket's pocket. She'd written to him, just like he'd asked. In fact, she'd more than written to him – she'd practically sent him a ten foot essay, detailing everything she had done and was doing after the first two weeks of summer holidays. Was she pestering him? She'd only sent the one letter, and still she had received no reply. Was she too clingy? Maybe he was having second thoughts?

No, that couldn't be it. After all, he'd asked to stay with her for the entire summer.

Her face crumpled at the thought of him, standing there, almost pleading with her to let him tag along. He seemed so desperate, and every time she looked back on it, it made her wonder why. But that wasn't her business to pry. He would tell her if he wanted to. Regardless, she couldn't help but hope he needed her in some way. And in a way, she regretted not giving him the chance to prove as much to her. The look on his face, the hurt in his eyes… she hadn't known she could be so heartless until that moment. She shouldn't have denied him – it was just too much. They were already balancing on the tip of a knife, and she'd pushed him over the edge. Hermione had left him on his own, knowing that right now, she was the only person he could  _really_  go to; the only person who would understand everything he was going through without having to have gone through it themselves.

Pushing her plate away from herself, she got up out of her chair and tucked it and her cutlery into the dishwasher carefully, taking her time by distracting herself with cleaning the plate completely before placing it in the dishwasher. Ignoring the odd looks from her parents, Hermione dragged her feet through the doorway into the hall, and then the same up the stairs and down  _that_  hallway into her room. She huffed as she settled heavily on her bed, not knowing what to do with herself.

Although her passion for school work had diminished, it hadn't stopped her from ordering her fifth year school texts early and avidly reading through each and every chapter of each and every book. The usual accomplished feeling she had after doing such a thing was not present, and she was slightly put-out about the matter. But what could she do? Obviously homework did not fill that void anymore – the void she felt when Harry and Ron never quite caught on to what she was talking about; or the void she felt when even her parents no longer asked her what was wrong.

Or, more specifically, the void she felt when she couldn't talk to him, see him, even  _touch_  him.

It was just all one big mess and she planned to rectify it immediately. That, of course, was easier said than done.

What could she do, though? Was there  _honestly_  anything? Huffing again, Hermione laid down on her bed, looking to her ceiling – a pristine off-white that she hated. She'd written to him, and that was surely as far as she could go. Anything else would be inappropriate, to say the least, and most of all probably breaking either a few laws or a few wards. She was bound to be found out, and worst of all, her parents would ground her for weeks – a grounding was something she had promised she would never receive. Then there was the worrying parents part, and the police; then  _they_ would ask questions of her, and she'd have to lie because she was a witch and it was just too complicated to think about, and required  _way_  too much effort.

So to explain why she was currently stuffing a duffel bag full with a few books and a pile of clothes and some toiletries sitting neatly on top, was a very hard thing to do. Slightly out of breath, she pulled her jacket on roughly, grabbed her wand and almost yanked the piece of paper out of her jacket pocket. She opened it, and only just realised how creased it was from the many times she'd read it. Trying to flatten it out, she soon gave up and read the memorized words once more.

_17 Ottery Rd, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, U.K._

Hermione stared at it for a moment.

_Now where the hell is that?_

Groaning, she flopped down onto her bed, once more frustrated with herself. Oh, how she wished she could apparate. Things would be much simpler. That's all she wanted nowadays, all she asked for – simplicity. Even something as simple as simplicity seemed hard to come by. Just thinking over that made her head ache in confusion. Pushing the thought from her mind, she realised she could go nowhere at this time anyway. After all, her parents were surely still downstairs, watching television or reading the Saturday paper over a glass of brandy or something of the sort. Hermione never took notice anymore.

So she was stuck. Not indefinitely – oh no, never indefinitely – but definitely for a long period of time. Maybe a couple of hours. There was nothing for her to do right now, and she felt a little lost. Her great plan was no longer so great, and she felt her heart sink at the thought. She could have been useful, but in true Gryffindor style she'd gone into the plan without any thought as to the execution. What an idiot she was. And people said she was smart!

Staring up at the off-white ceiling of her room once more, Hermione wondered what would happen after the immediate future passed. She tried not to think about it; the rejection, maybe… the uncomfortable silence… the nervousness. There were so many things that could go wrong that she almost didn't want to think about it. But it was silly, because it was exactly all she could think about. Turning on her side, the fifth year stared down her wooden door.

_I hate this place._

The thought took her off guard, and she blanched at the realisation. Yes. She did. Frowning to herself, and she tried to understand why. It had been a home – somewhere to go to when everything else was lost or in chaos. It had been her sanctuary, the only place where she could be herself and where no one would see her being herself. She felt a little guilty at despising it so, but again frowned at the feeling. What did she have to feel guilty for? Was it a crime to move on to bigger and better things? What even  _were_  those things?

Hermione looked around herself – she looked at the fraying blankets beneath her, the dusty lampshade sitting atop the lamp on her bedside table; she looked at the scattered parchment on her desk, and at Crookshanks's bed, unoccupied as per usual and definitely in need of a wash; her closet, old and almost broken and containing only her school robes and the few dresses she owned; she ran her eyes over the polished wooden floor, and the bin that was overflowing in the corner. All of these things, every single one… they reminded her of something she didn't have, or really, something she was missing. It reminded her that she had a real life outside of school and being a death seer and falling in love with Cedric Diggory. And the harsh realisation was hardly pretty.

So this place was no longer a home, no longer a sanctuary; all those things were by  _his_ side. And yet, when she'd been there she hadn't even realised it. Hermione could almost scoff at the ludicrous nature of it all. What was the saying – you don't know what you've got until it's gone? Yeah, well, even before he was gone she knew what she had, what she felt. Now she just felt sorry for herself. Self-pity was such a tiresome feeling, and she yawned despite her inner-self protesting. Closing her eyes slowly, Hermione reflected on what had changed, and what was just the same.

It was rather unsettling that she got the feeling that  _nothing_  had changed. She drifted off to sleep soon after the thought.

_She couldn't help but laugh as she was lifted off the ground, her dress flipping in the wind and her cries of joy floating through the air into the distance. Her sandals were just about to slip off, she could feel them. Shrieking in protest, but laughing all the same, she hit the back of the figure holding her._

" _Cedric! Stop, stop, please!" The grin on her face would have told him otherwise had he seen it, but he halted suddenly. His hands abruptly loosened their hold, and she slipped through his arms like liquid and landed on the ground with a_ thud _. She looked up at him, and he was still – unmoving. It was almost like he was a zombie, a robot; a puppet for her to control. She slowly stood, rubbing her sore wrist weakly._

" _Ced?" she murmured, not quite mumbling. His eyes settled on her own, intense and cold._

" _You can't control me."_

_He kissed her then, bruising her lips. His hands came up to grasp her face, holding it still, encasing her skull and making her feel claustrophobic. She was caged._

" _I'm dying."_

_She looked to him, and saw his bright red eyes and satisfied smirk. The blondish-brown hair was ruffling in the wind, and his stubble definitely needed to be shaved – but this was not what drew her attention._

_He was severely burnt. All along his neck, below his right ear, Hermione could see the scarring – the puckered skin and the permanent red pigment._

" _Always." he said, and attacked her with his mouth once more._

_She pushed at his chest, desperate to get away from his suffocating kisses; the smothering feeling she was receiving through them was slowly ebbing through her, seeping into her veins. They boiled, and she felt hot. She smelt smoke, but could not do anything. Cedric had her in his arms, pliable and willing, and she could do nothing._

_Her shirt was gone._

_His hands moved up her back, trailing agonizingly slowly, and she moaned in encouragement. As his mouth went for her breasts, she looked down to watch._

_Her skin was red. It was puckering. He was giving her whatever he had. She pushed him away in shock, and she felt the sting of betrayal run through her._

" _How could you?" she exclaimed, stepping back from him as tears fell off her cheeks onto the long grass below._

_Cedric closed the distance between then, and snatched a flailing hand. She tried to resist, but he was too strong for her and pulled her roughly to him. Grabbing her arse aggressively, his mouth grazed her left ear and she melted in his arms._

" _You can't fight it." As he spoke, she felt hotter and hotter and hotter, until the hot movements of his mouth on her neck felt ice cold._

" _You have no control."_

_She felt him push her back violently, and her hold on him slipped down his arms until she was holding on by his hands. He stood there, unchanged and unaffected. The smirk on his face grew, and she looked below her to see that she was hanging, the cliff face in front of her and rough seas below. Tears still streaming, she looked up pleadingly at her love._

" _Sometimes,_ Hermione, _" She couldn't help but flinch at the bitterness in his tone, and raised her eyes to his own, the red of his gleaming in the sunlight, "It's best to just let things_ happen _."_

_On the last word, he released his grip on her. The wind blew her hair around her face, and she was screaming, screaming, roaring in grief and loss and waiting for darkness and death to consume her like it should have a long while ago._

" _YOU ARE NOT GOD!"_

Hermione let out a squeal as her body hit the hard, cold wooden floor. Sitting up quickly, she rubbed her bruised side and cringed at the funny feeling of her elbow. It twinged a bit, but nothing serious it seemed. She sighed in exhaustion as she hauled herself from the ground. Looking at her muggle clock, she saw it was almost three in the morning. She must've been a sleep for more than four hours. She frowned, wondering why her parents hadn't checked up on her.

There was no time to worry about that, however, as she quickly realised it was the perfect opportunity to get her things together and go. Maybe had she focused a little less on the task at hand, she would have noticed the unopened letter newly residing on her desk. But alas, such a thing did not happen.

Grabbing the previously abandoned duffel bag that lay untouched at the base of her bed, she quickly but quietly made her way downstairs, making sure to avoid the creak stair and trying not to bring notice to herself. Crookshanks was really quite loud when he got offended – and her leaving without telling him would surely offend the ginger cat.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione steadied herself for what she was about to do. Trying not to think about all the consequences raging through her head, she quickly turned the squeaky lock and swiftly moved through the doorway into the front yard. Closing the door as quietly as she could, Hermione walked calmly down her front path, trying to act like sneaking out at three o'clock in the morning was exactly what she should be doing. She ignored the feeling that several neighbours were watching her rebellious act, and strode along the footpath in a determined manner, aiming to walk down the street a long ways so as to avoid suspicion when she would later have to explain herself, no doubt.

Looking around her, she didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. That is to say, she didn't notice anything that wouldn't normally be out on a Saturday night – or really, early Sunday morning.

She thrust out her arm, wand in hand.

With a rather large bang that resembled something of a broken down tractor, a high, multi-leveled purple vehicle appeared, as ready as it would ever seem to take her wherever she needed to go.

"Stan Shunpike, welcome to the-"

"Seventeen Ottery Street, Ottery Saint Catchpole, Devon, please."

Stan Shunpike looked at her like she'd grown three heads. To be honest, she thought she ought to be rather flattered – after all, the potion that resulted in such a thing was incredibly complicated to make.

Hermione sighed, pulling out her wallet filled with wizarding currency. She'd known it would probably come to this.

"How much extra do I need to give you so that you make  _my_  stop priority?"

Stan flushed, obviously embarrassed by his blatant staring and readable face.

He mumbled something unintelligible, and she just rolled her eyes and shoved x-amount of coins into his waiting hands. He was still counting them by the time she had herself seated, and the bus was rearing to go. She realised with contempt that there were no other passengers, and wished she hadn't bothered with the bribe at all.

To say that she enjoyed the ride would be an outright lie. She wanted someone, anyone, to remind her to never ride that damned bus again. It was a catastrophe waiting to happen, and she didn't want to be on it, or simply even there, when it did.

"Ottery Saint Catchpole, young lady. And I'd remind you that it ain't safe 'round here. Watch yourself."

She thanked Stan as she departed, slightly paler than when she got on. She accepted his advice and remained wary – but she was Hermione Granger, Death Seer and had bloody well faced Voldemort the school year before. She at least gave herself  _some_  credit for that.

_Eleven… thirteen… fifteen… ah hah! Seventeen._

She stopped in front of the house, taking it in so that she could remember this moment for a long time to come. She hadn't really thought through this part all that well. She supposed she'd been expecting some sort of marching band reunion type event, but that was just silly. Things like that didn't happen in real life, only in those deplorable muggle movies her mother used to make her watch as a child. But still, she felt rather out of place. And it didn't even look like anyone was home.

_Well of course no one's home, you idiot. It's three o'clock in the bloody morning!_

Oh. Well. Well, of course.

Gulping dramatically, Hermione opened the gate a silently as she could – which wasn't very silently – and padded softly to the front door. Frowning, she wondered what to do next. It was so late, or early rather, that no one would answer. Should she just open the door? Test her luck?

Hermione's small, elegant, pale hand grasped the door knob and turned slowly. There was no sound as she opened the door further and treaded leisurely into the old, Victorian style home. And there was no doubt that it was one – it looked extremely well-lived in. Glasses half full, glasses half empty, a stack of newspapers by the fire, a wand lying on the coffee table of the living room. Down the hall she could see the entrance to the kitchen and went to go towards it. She paced slowly, looking at the wallpapered walls and polished oak floor beneath her. She was thinking of the homeliness of this place; the way it felt warm and fuzzy and just like home  _should_  feel-

Hermione's scream was muffled by a large, calloused hand as her body slammed into the wall to her left. Trying to fight off her attacker, she kicked and scratched and tried to reach for her wand in her jeans' front pocket, but generally failed. He was too strong, too big, and too angry to let her do anything but continue to be squashed against the wall. She tried to bite his hand, but in response he simply moved it down the hold her to the wall by the throat. She felt the hard pressure of his forearm on her throat and stopped fighting. It was useless.

A lighted wand was in his right hand, and she looked to it before looking to his face.

Her own broke into a smile.

"Ced," she whispered, and to her own ears it almost seemed to be a whimper. She raised her arms, hoping to embrace him.

"What's your name?" he demanded fiercely, staring at her intensely, cold… just like in her dream…

"Hermione Granger." she rasped, frowning and scared.

"When is your birthday?" he demanded once more, voice husky with anger. His eyes looked about ready to wish her to turn inside out.

"September nineteenth, nineteen-seventy-nine." Her voice almost faltered, but she managed to cover it up quite nicely. This man, whoever he was because he certainly wasn't acting like Cedric, was intimidating her. And she didn't know what else to do but to answer his questions.

"What are you?" he asked sternly, pushing his wand tip into the side of her neck. Hermione could feel her pulse thumping against it.

"Ced, what are you tal-"

" _What are you?_ "

Hermione looked into his eyes, and saw the impatient hope beneath them. Tears trickled down her red, clammy cheeks. His eyes did not soften, but she knew, somehow, that this was the man she loved. Why was he doing this to her?

"I'm-… I-I'm a Death Seer." She lowered her eyes, looking down but not so much that his forearm might suffocate her.

The arm was removed, as well as the wand, and she went to look up at Cedric, but was caught by surprise.

His mouth crushed hers with the pressure he exuded in the kiss. It took her a second or two to gather her bearings before she was responding eagerly, moving with him and deepening the kiss she had waited weeks for, although it seemed more like months.

His hands came up to her face, but unlike in her dream, it did not make her feel claustrophobic, but simply closer to him, closer to Cedric in every way. She molded her body against his, wrapping her arms around his neck and standing on her toes to get comfortable with his height. His head was bowed, and he was biting and sucking and doing everything he could to memorise the way she kissed and the way she loved.

He broke away for a moment, and both of them were panting heavily.

"Where have you been?" he whispered brokenly, and began to devour her again. His left hand moved to her hip, pulling her closer to him – if that were possible – and moving up the middle of her back to her black bra strap, settling there comfortably. By this time, Hermione's breaths were coming in ragged gasps, and her hands were in his hair, twisting and tugging until her mouth connected with his once more.

She never had the chance to answer him as he lifted her so that her legs would have to wrap around his waist if she wanted to steady herself. He was moving, she noted, although she did not take notice of where to. She was a little preoccupied, and was in awe at how he could possibly navigate at a time like this. The thought soon flew from her head as he lowered them onto a soft, cushioned surface. She vaguely noted it was probably a bed but realised she didn't particularly care  _where_  they did it, just that they did.

 _Whoa, wait… what am I- oh Merlin that feels good – what am I_ doing? _Cedric!_

But her thoughts could not communicate to her mouth and out into the air. She remained gasping in desire, running her hands through Cedric's hair as his hands made her t-shirt bunch up just below her bra. His hands skimmed underneath  _there_ , and she gripped his hair tighter. His mouth left a hot trail down her neck, and was continuing down-

The window was open, and a strong wind passed suddenly, running against her skin, forming goosebumps and making her brain kick into action.

"Cedric," she moaned. Okay, so that wasn't helping. Maybe another sentence might suffice? "Stop," but it seemed less like a plea and more like a garbled gurgle.

"Cedric, stop." she said more firmly, and his ministrations paused, his eyes looking up at her from around her belly button. The lust present seemed to abruptly diminish, and his hands were gone from her, and her skin was left tingling. His warmth and weight disappeared, and she watched as he stood for a moment before turning to a chest of drawers. She looked around, and assumed this was Cedric's room. She was surprised, as it was quite bare and didn't even seem like someone regularly slept here. It was a ghost of a room, Hermione realised, as she saw the slight poster marks on his walls. He must have taken them down.

Why?

She saw him pull out boxers and a grey loose t-shirt, before turning to what looked to be an en suite. He locked the door behind him.

Hermione sighed in relief. She hadn't realised what time apart from Cedric had meant for her  _body_  specifically. That reaction was totally unexpected, and she assured herself it would not happen again. In fact, she  _couldn't_  let it happen again – such a reaction would surely end in disastrous consequences. Not that…  _that_ … wouldn't be good with…  _him_  – oh, she was sure it would be – but it was more a question of timing than anything else. She was sure he understood, even if he was a hormone-raged, teenaged male with needs

Oh, why was she even having this conversation with herself?

Elbows collapsing beneath her, Hermione laid down on the comfortable single bed. At least that reassured her he didn't regularly get fifth years into his bed just to have sex with them.

_Oh, gross – Hermione, that's sick._

Sighing, she turned on her side, quickly pulling down her shirt so as to avoid further embarrassment later. She fingered the blue blanket beneath her, not bothering to cover herself with it as it was a warm summer night. But its simplicity startled her, and she realised she'd never seen a male's bed  _not_  decked with Quidditch-styled bed covers.

Burying her bushy-haired head into the pillow, Hermione inhaled sharply. Smelling him on his own pillow, even if it might have seemed creepy later, gave her the comfort she'd been seeking every night since she had last slept in his bed, literally of course. And so it was with great ease that she slowly drifted off into a contented sleep, but not before she felt a large, warm body lay down beside her, its heavy arm settling on her waist.

_She was running._

That bitch, _she thought,_ that fucking bitch. I'll get her.

" _Murderer!" she screamed across the foyer, and was granted with a maddening cackle in return._

_Pushing her legs harder, ignoring the muscles that ached in protest, Hermione turned the corner into the grand foyer, with the hideous golden statues that she despised. They glistened in the firelight, and the water of the fountain seemed to shimmer, as if under a spell._

" _Do you really want to kill me, Granger?" she heard from behind her, and twirled around quickly, hair whipping her own face and wand out, steady._

" _What do you think, Lestrange?" Hermione whispered into the dimly-lighted room. Tears ran fast down her face, dripping onto her clothes. But she did not care. She could not. Her heart ached. "You can't get away with this!"_

_A sound was heard from behind her once more, and she turned around, but was too slow for the dark witch. Her wand was knocked from her hand, and she was sent flying into the ground. The woman, if you could call her that, was above her, grinning maniacally. It was almost inhumane, and in the one second that she realised she was done for, Hermione felt sorry for her. But that moment quickly passed and she was glaring at the crazy witch with as much hatred as she could muster._

" _It's so nice to kill off lovers together, you know?" Bellatrix's eyes widened with glee, and there was a strange glint to her eye._

" _You bitch." Hermione seethed, clenching her jaw in defiance. The Death Eater's eyes flashed._

" _That's not very nice." she said mockingly, raising her wand._

_Hermione turned her head to the left, spotting her own a few metres away. Her left hand twitched, and it flew silently into her waiting palm. She felt the cool feel of her magic run through her and smiled. She turned back to Bellatrix._

" _Oh, I know…_ CRUCIO! _"_

_The bitch's satisfying screams filled the room._

She jolted awake, immediately feeling the sweat coating her skin and glistening in the moonlight from Cedric's window. Feeling around groggily, she noted that she was still in Cedric's embrace. Gently raising the arm that was around her, Hermione placed it on the bed and got up, stretching her legs. Her hands were still shaking, and Hermione did not know what to think of this latest development. What did it mean? And did it even mean anything?

Shuddering, and pushing thoughts of her ability to the back of her mind, Hermione only just noticed the owl sitting on Cedric's desk. It was very unusual, as she'd never seen the owl before, and she knew what Cedric's looked like. In fact, she'd have to ask him where Zeus was. She hadn't seen the bird, and Cedric loved it like it was his own child. Surely, he can't have sold his pet? No, surely not.

The owl hooted inquisitively. Hermione jumped, startled. Smiling in relief at realising it was only the owl, she cautiously approached it. It had a letter tied to its leg, and Hermione patted the owl as she untied the string. The animal seemed friendly enough, so she figured it was of no harm to her.

Turning over the envelope, she was confused to read that it was addressed to her.

No one knew she was here.

Walking back over to the bed and sitting down, Hermione ripped open the letter slowly and carefully so as to not wake the sleeping Hufflepuff beside her. The parchment was blank. She turned it over.

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

As Hermione felt the familiar pull at her navel, her eyes widened and she did the only thing she could think of.

She grabbed Cedric's hand.

When they both landed heavily onto a dusty, old wooden floor, Hermione spluttered and coughed amongst the dusty air. Cedric was above her, holding his own body weight so as to not crush her. He was shaking his hair of dust. His hips were positioned between her two legs, and she blushed at the intimate position. Of course. Of course they landed this way.

"Hermione… what-?"

She looked up, and saw many faces she knew and some she didn't. And they all seemed slightly disturbed that Cedric was with her.

" _Diggory?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's hoping I actually continue you this! Thanks to all the readers who stuck by me on ff.net. I owe you one xx


	2. Arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here’s the deal. Will updates be consistent? No. Although the best scenario is that I finish this fic by the end of March. Originally, I wanted to write the whole of TBE and then post so I wouldn’t disappoint people. Considering I wrote, like, 30k of a Remus/Hermione fic that is nowhere near finished, and about 15k here and there of other non-HP fics without publishing, I realised it would be cruel to do that. You’ve all waited long enough.
> 
> So, no better time to continue telling the Cedric/Hermione story than now, my first week of summer holidays and half-way through my HP reread. I’m one third of the way through GoF atm. Considering TBE follows OotP, I should be ok timeline-wise. I think part of the reason I didn’t continue TBE is because OotP is my least favourite book by a mile…
> 
> As I mentioned before, I had planned for this to be a trilogy. And it was going to be so good, let me tell you. I had all these subplots planned, and things from UC that would relate to the third instalment… but needless to say I’ve forgotten the majority of them and I lost the planning document I’d made! When I wrote UC I didn’t even have my own laptop. It’s unlikely this will be a trilogy, but I’ll try my best to remember and now with better writing (I’d hope), the sequel should actually be more sophisticated. Keep in mind, it might also mean a different writing style. I’ll be posting this up on archiveofourown as well – that’s where I write now. Just publishing here so all of you are notified. I read all your reviews, even if I didn’t reply. They helped coax me back :)
> 
> Without further ado, on with the show!

The silence was deafening.

 

“Hermione?” Ginny’s amused voice came from above, and Hermione winced from underneath Cedric. It had been a hard landing, and the probing eyes of the surrounding adults didn’t help matters at all. In fact, Hermione was pretty sure it had been Mad-Eye, of all people, to comment on Cedric’s presence.

 

 _As if this couldn’t get any more awkward,_ Hermione thought.

 

Cedric caught her eye, before extracting himself from between her legs (an image Hermione immediately tried to shove from the forefront of her mind) and standing, offering a hand. Hermione took it, and they both brushed off some of the dust they’d landed in.

 

Looking around at the faces of those she admired, Hermione stumbled through an explanation.

 

“Er… Cedric was just… we were- well, the thing is-” Her gaze landed on Mrs Weasley, who anxiously awaited the completion of the sentence, “I was visiting him?” It came out as a question, and Hermione was sure she saw Ron open his mouth to no doubt put his foot in it before the twins suddenly appeared behind Professor Lupin, who jumped before turning around and chuckling at their antics.

 

“Boys! How many times have I told you?” Mrs Weasley reprimanded, Hermione and Cedric now forgotten as others shuffled away or became distracted, muttering amongst themselves.

 

“No apparating in the house,” the twins said in unison, obviously reciting from memory.

 

“Well, this makes things easier,” Mr Weasley said, clapping them both on their shoulders and smiling brightly as his wife continued to berate his children in the background, “Two birds with one stone, if you will. I’m sorry about the short notice, Hermione,” he added as Professor Lupin moved into what seemed to be the kitchen, followed by a witch with brightly coloured hair, “We would’ve told you to pack your bags, but we’ve had a bit of a – ahh… situation, you might say.” He smiled again, but Hermione saw quickly veiled unease in his eyes, “Ron and Ginny will explain. You two head on upstairs with them, and they’ll get you settled. We’ll send for your things tomorrow. You should be able to borrow some clothes in the meantime.” And with that, he turned them around and gave them a light push toward the two youngest Weasleys before striding into the kitchen behind a disgruntled Moody and shutting the door. Hermione guessed a silencing charm had been cast, as the quiet conversation she’d been hearing from the room had suddenly ceased.

 

Ron had a dark look on his face but said nothing, instead choosing to head upstairs without bothering to wait for them. Ginny gave them a bright smile in contrast, like her father’s.

 

“I’ve got loads to tell you,” This was directed at Hermione, and a slightly wary look directed at Cedric. Hermione forgot that the others didn’t know Cedric very well at all. He’d been quiet this whole time, slowly taking everything in. Hermione was reminded a little of the silently handsome man she’d first seen in her first year at Hogwarts.

 

She grabbed his hand, and they followed Ginny to the second floor.

 

“The commotion is all about Harry, of course,” The redhead explained, rolling her eyes, “Just today, he cast a Patronus charm to fend off Dementors.”

 

“Dementors?” Hermione queried, shocked, “In Little Whinging?”

 

“Yeah. Mental, right?” Ginny replied as they hit the top of the stairs. She headed down the hall to the left. The walls were wooden and grey, like they hadn’t been cleaned in a while. Ron was nowhere to be seen. “The Ministry is trying to expel him from Hogwarts but Dumbledore’s having none of it. This is us,” Ginny added, reaching the second door on the left. She opened it, and Hermione peered inside to see two twin beds against the farthest wall, sparsely covered. The walls were the same dank wood of the hallway. On the ceiling was an extravagant chandelier, seeming completely out of place.

 

Ginny eyed Cedric in thought.

 

“I s’pose you’ll probably be with Harry and Ron. I heard Mum and Dad talking about how to get you here, but I’m not sure they thought you’d actually _come_ , let alone like _this_.” She raised her eyebrows, a slight twinkle of mischief in her eyes as she no doubt looked at Cedric in boxers. Hermione thought she looked an awful lot like her twin brothers in that moment. “Ron’s got some stuff you can borrow. You’re about the same height, ‘cause Ron’s grown about three inches since school finished. It doesn’t look like he’s stopping, either. Hermione, you can borrow some of my stuff for the time being.”

 

Hermione didn’t want to mention that she may as well just wear her underwear considering Ginny was fourteen and still halfway between girl and woman, and Hermione was sixteen and very much the latter. At least in body.

 

The younger girl sighed, sitting heavily on the bed on the right, obviously hers by the trunk at the foot of it.

 

Hermione felt a bit stuck, hovering inside the doorway and still holding Cedric’s hand. She wasn’t sure what the etiquette was here. In fact, Hermione herself didn’t even know where she stood with Cedric. The events of the past twenty-four hours were too confusing right now, and she didn’t know how to gauge his behaviour. But he didn’t seem fussed right now, from what Hermione could gather from the corner of her eyes. Squeezing his hand once, Hermione decided they may as well stick together and pulled him with her to what she presumed to be her own bed at Grimmauld Place.

 

“Dumbledore’s at the Ministry now. We’ll probably see Harry soon, I expect. The Order’s figuring out who sent them, I guess.”

 

“The Order?” It was the first time Cedric had spoken since their arrival, and Hermione almost jumped at the sound. She looked to him, but he was looking intently at Ginny, eyes boring into her.

 

Despite the usual confidence Ginny carried with her, her reply was hesitant.

 

“Yes… the Order of the Phoenix. It’s what we’re calling ourselves-“ She rolled her eyes, “Sorry, what _they’re_ calling themselves. I’m not old enough to join yet.” Her expression gave away her annoyance, and Hermione sensed the remembrance of an old argument. It cleared just as suddenly as it had appeared. “It’s basically an organisation with the goal of defeating You-Know-Who. Professor Lupin, Mad-Eye, Mum’s brothers, as well as a fair few others were part of the original group back when You-Know-Who was defeated the first time… and he’s back, now. There’s been a resurgence.”

 

Cedric’s grip got slightly tighter.

 

“None of us are allowed to join until we’re eighteen,” Ginny expanded, “So don’t even think about it.”

 

She gave Hermione a stern look, and she laughed lightly.

 

This was a lot to take in. Hermione had read briefly about this before, but of course the members of the Order hadn’t been broadcast in the _Prophet_ after Voldemort’s first defeat. A lot of them had died, Hermione had thought. Thinking of Harry’s parents, Hermione figured she was right.

 

“They’ve probably finished now. I’m starved, now that I’m up,” Ginny stood, and Hermione only just realised she was in her pyjamas as well. It was just past midnight, looking at the clock, so Hermione figured none of them had been asleep long when the news came in. “I’m sure Mum’s cooked something, she tends to do that when she’s worried. I’ll see you downstairs, yeah?”

 

At Hermione’s nod, she left the room.

 

“I want to join,” came Cedric’s voice, as soon as the door clicked softly behind Ginny.

 

Hermione sighed.

 

“You heard Ginny, we can’t until we’re eighteen.”

 

There was silence again, and Hermione didn’t want to know what was running through Cedric’s head. She was scared of what he might do, just to join. Revenge was a powerful thing, Hermione knew.

 

“Let’s talk more in the morning.” Suddenly, Hermione felt exhausted. Everything was catching up to her, and all she wanted to do was curl up next to Cedric and sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

 

Neither of them even attempted to separate, lying down on Hermione’s bed. Cedric wrapped his arms around her, a necessity on such a small bed, and Hermione felt warm and comfortable, ideal for sleep.

 

And so she did.

 

\---

 

Early the next morning, Hermione extracted herself from Cedric’s arms. Yawning widely, she noticed Ginny’s bed seemed untouched. That was odd, considering Ginny generally loved a lie-in. Frowning, Hermione grabbed one of Ginny’s over-sized jumpers, one that fit her perfectly, before making her way downstairs for breakfast.

 

“Good morning!” Mrs Weasley exclaimed happily as Hermione entered the kitchen she hadn’t seen yesterday. Quite a big kitchen, it accommodated a relatively large rectangular table, comfortably able to seat about twelve. It was at this that Hermione sat, giving a small smile to Ginny, and the brightly-coloured haired witch from the day before. They’d been chatting, ceasing suspiciously as soon as Hermione entered.

 

Mrs Weasley placed some eggs and bacon in front of Hermione, whose stomach grumbled. When was the last time she ate? Dinner the night before seemed like eons ago.

 

“Help yourself to more, dear. There’s sausages and tomatoes coming soon.”

 

“Thanks, Mrs Weasley,” Hermione replied graciously, digging in.

 

“Sorry I didn’t introduce myself yesterday,” the unknown witch began. Her plate was scraped clean and pushed to the side. She looked at Hermione over the top of her copy of the _Daily Prophet_. “The name’s Tonks.”

 

“As in An-”

 

“Andromeda Tonks, yes, she was my mother,” She put down her paper, “Nothing gets past this one, does it?” This was directed at Ginny, who gave a small chuckle. “Yes, the disgraced part of the Black family. Oh, the _horror_.”

 

Hermione coughed, trying not to laugh with her mouth full of bacon.

 

“I wager Little Red,” Ginny rolled her eyes playfully at the nickname, “has probably caught you up on all the interesting stuff,” Tonks said, “so please don’t ask me about more. I’m not allowed to tell you, and I hate saying no.” She gave a bright smile, her cheeks round and cheerful. Hermione decided she liked Tonks, who was younger than a lot of the other Order members Hermione had glimpsed yesterday.

 

The three of them made small talk over the remainder of the meal, and Hermione soon learned that Tonks was an Auror.

 

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Hermione asked worriedly, finishing up the last of her fried tomato.

 

Tonks looked amused.

 

“Well, yeah, that’s the whole point, isn’t it? Fight the good fight?”

 

“I suppose…” Hermione trailed off, thinking of Frank Longbottom, and countless others who had given their lives for the ‘good fight’. Hermione was reminded painfully of Dumbledore’s idea of sacrifice, in the name of the ‘greater good’. It didn’t sound too dissimilar.

 

Mrs Weasley cut in, and Hermione suspected she’d chosen that exact moment for a reason.

 

“Tonks will go gather your things after breakfast, Hermione,” she said, smiling.

 

“I may as well be off now, Molly,” Tonks stated, standing up and stretching, “I’m sure Hermione would like to wear her own clothes sooner rather than later.”

 

“I can’t go myself?” Hermione asked, confused. A frown marred her face. Her house had seemed perfectly safe before. No one had mentioned in their letters that she had to be more careful. Suddenly, she thought of her parents. Who was going to explain to them where she’d gone? And, Hermione thought with barely concealed embarrassment, some of her things were at Cedric’s.

 

_This is going to be hard to explain._

 

“It’s quicker this way. You can’t do magic, but I can.” Tonks replied, patting herself down in her search for something. Upon producing her wand with a triumphant expression, she added, “Besides, explaining everything to your parents without having to censor it for you is going to make my life so much easier. Thanks for breakfast, Molly.”

 

“Not to worry, dear.”

 

At that, Tonks turned and left. Hermione was stumped. Tonks probably wouldn’t know what to bring and what to leave behind. And all of her homework? Her books? Hermione sincerely hoped Tonks would remember to bring all of them back. What was she going to do for the rest of the summer?

 

At that thought, Cedric walked quietly into the room. Hermione gave him a small smile, happy to see he looked much better than he had yesterday.

 

“Hey,” He said quietly, sitting down next to her. Hermione hardly noticed Ginny leaving the room.

 

Like lightning, Mrs Weasley had produced a plate full of food in front of Cedric.

 

“Eat up, Cedric. I just need a word with Hermione.” Smiling, although looking a little more terse than before, Mrs Weasley gestured for Hermione to follow her to just outside the kitchen door.

 

She spoke quietly, as if embarrassed herself.

 

“Hermione, dear, you know I think of you like my own daughter,” Hermione thought back to Mrs Weasley’s silent disapproval of her when she thought Hermione was dating Harry, and tried not to laugh. The matriarch meant well, “And I don’t want to doubt your choices, but Ginny let slip th- that… Cedric spent the night in your bed.”

 

Hermione slowly felt the blood drain from her face. In a way, the time she spent with Cedric felt wholly removed from anything even remotely conventional. Hermione hadn’t even thought of Mrs Weasley when she’d let him stay. She blanched further at the thought of the older redhead knowing what she and Cedric had done at Cedric’s house not even a day prior.

 

“I know you’re young, and you might think you’re ready, but-”

 

“Mrs Weasley!” Hermione interrupted shakily, feeling completely out of place and mortified, “We did not-“ taking a deep breath, she started again, this time more quietly, “We didn’t do anything. It was-... completely innocent.”

 

Mrs Weasley looked relieved, and if Hermione weren’t so embarrassed and a little dizzy from the rush of blood away from her head, she might laugh. As it was, she was sure to laugh about it with Ginny later, who had probably felt just as mortified as Hermione when she had accidentally let the cat out the bag, so to speak.

 

“Be that as it may, I think that while you are sharing a room with Ginny it would be best to… separate… once you go to bed.”

 

“Yes,” Hermione hurried to agree, “Yes, of course, I completely agree. It won’t happen again.”

 

“Good,” Mrs Weasley concluded, straightening up from looking at Hermione so intensely. “Now get dressed – didn’t Ron tell you we’d be cleaning the house today?”

 

\---

 

The days flew by at Grimmauld Place in comparison to her home, where Hermione had felt each tick of the clock drag. She spent a lot of time with Ginny who, along with Ron and Cedric, cleaned the house with her. Whilst the two boys didn’t seem to talk much, the icy welcome Cedric had received from Ron had turned into a reluctant tolerance.

 

After her talk with Mrs Weasley, Cedric had spent each night in his shared room with Ron. He’d admitted, in one of the few times he’d spoken, that it had been awkward but bearable. Ron, Hermione could tell, was sorely missing Harry.

 

And so was she. She hadn’t been able to write much to Harry, for Ron had sent her letters before her arrival explaining that Ron’s parents were being secretive about all of their summer plans. Now that Hermione was at Grimmauld Place – a dark, lonely place despite the many people passing through – she understood where the secrecy was coming from. That didn’t make it any easier when she thought about her best friend, who was at the Dursleys’ thinking he had been expelled.

 

Cedric was quiet, quieter than she’d ever seen him, and would spend the evenings wandering the backyard – not huge, but still sizeable considering Grimmauld Place was in the middle of London; magic never ceased to amaze her. Hermione tried not to bother him. He would talk to her when he was ready – but it still hurt, and she couldn’t help but feel like he was giving her the cold shoulder. For what, she had no idea.

 

It was the day of Harry’s arrival about five days later when she found out why.

 

“HARRY!” She shrieked, bombarding him with a hug as soon as he entered Ron’s shared room with Cedric. Ron had warmed up to her completely by the end of the first day, and she’d been helping him with his summer homework (which he hadn’t even started). “We didn’t hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless – but we couldn’t tell you anything, the Order made us swear we wouldn’t, oh, we’ve got so much to tell you, and you’ve got things to tell us – the Dementors! When we heard – and that Ministry hearing – it’s just outrageous, I’ve looked it all up, they can’t expel you, they just can’t, there’s provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations-”

 

Maybe she’d gone a little overboard… but Harry was her best friend, in trouble, and Cedric wasn’t speaking to her.

 

“Let him breathe, Hermione,” Ron said, grinning, his freckles seeming even more obvious against the blinding grin. Just as she was about to continue, Hedwig flew in from her perch on one of the trees outside, having resided there upon figuring out Harry had yet to arrive. She was a beautiful owl, but loyal to the point of giving a bit too much attitude when Harry wasn’t around. Hermione loved her all the same. So did Harry, who was petting her lovingly.

 

“She’s been insistent, mate,” Ron explained, lifting up his injured hands. Hedwig had a nasty peck.

 

“Oh yeah,” Harry said, “Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know-“

 

“We know, we wanted to give them to you, mate.” Ron said, “But the Order made us-”

 

“Swear not to tell me,” said Harry, “Yeah, Hermione’s already said.”

 

There was a moment of awkwardness, and Hermione shared a worried look with Ron. She’d thought Harry would be really happy to see them, at least happy for Hermione’s work toward helping him with his hearing. At any rate, _something_ good had come of Cedric’s distance.

 

“Dumbledore seemed to think it was best,” Ron began hastily, trying to catch Harry’s eyes but failing. “I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles-”

 

“Yeah?” Harry started, and Hermione could see he was gearing up for something bigger, angrier. Ron looked startled, and Hermione knew he thought the same. “Have either of you been attacked by Dementors this summer?”

 

“Well, no – but that’s why he’s had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time-” Ron stopped, and he looked like he slightly regretted what he’d said…

 

“Didn’t work that well, though, did it?” Harry barged on, and Hermione felt like wincing at the sharpness to his tone, “Had to look after myself after all, didn’t I?” Harry’s expression was stormy, and Hermione could see he’d stopped petting Hedwig and was clenching his fists by his sides, instead. His owl looked equally as angry, and Hermione feared for the state of her hands. “I’m glad Mundungus left, I’m glad he didn’t stick around to follow me. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have done magic and I would’ve been stuck with the _Dursleys_ all summer.” It was like Harry was spitting out the words, glaring at the floor as if it had done something to particularly offend him.

 

“But-“ Hermione stumbled over her words, her anxiety racketing up with each passing moment. Ron looked just as stumped, “The hearing-?”

 

“I don’t care.” Harry said coldly, pushing past them toward the window.

 

It was like this was a whole new person. Hermione knew Harry hadn’t fully processed what had happened a few months ago by the time they had said their goodbyes for the summer. Hermione hadn’t even processed everything, and she was _there_.

 

Voldemort was back. Hermione had been having visions for weeks, still, even after the graveyard. A whole new death prophecy, the same charge. What was she supposed to do with that information? Her frustration increased. Harry wasn’t the only one with a target on his back now. Hermione had one, Cedric had one – hell, Ron probably had one simply by association. This affected them all, and Hermione certainly wasn’t happy that the last time she’d spoken to her parents in person, she’d been planning to leave them. It’s not like Hermione hadn’t felt helpless last year, when it seemed like if not one, then two people would die by her watch. It’s not like Hermione _still_ didn’t feel helpless, starting her fifth year at Hogwarts with a grieving boyfriend and images of his death. And Dumbledore, who was meant to be the person spearheading Voldemort’s opposition, was a whole new set of problems Hermione wasn’t totally comfortable sharing with her best friends yet. They didn’t even _know_ -

 

Hermione shared another significant look with Ron.

 

“So why’s Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?” Harry asked, his voice teetering on the edge of _something_ , “Did you bother to ask him at all?”

 

“I told Dumbledore I wanted to tell you what was going on – Hermione hasn’t seen him yet, just like you – but he’s really busy now, and I’ve only seen him twice since I came here. He said owls might be intercepted, and I let Hermione know-”

 

“But both of you were in on it?” Harry interrupted.

 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Hermione said hesitantly, “We barely know more than you, but the Order wanted even that to be kept secret.”

 

“Maybe he thinks I can’t be trusted,” said Harry, watching them closely.

 

Hermione carefully didn’t mention that Dumbledore certainly didn’t trust her.

 

“No way, don’t be an idiot,” Ron said, a troubled expression on his face.

 

“Or that I can’t take care of myself-“

 

And before Hermione could rebut that, he was off, his voice growing louder with every word. Hedwig fled before it got too bad.

 

“Because why else would I have to stay at the Dursleys’ while you two get to join in on everything that’s going on here?”

 

“Harry, we haven’t, we don’t even go to meetings-”

 

“SO YOU HAVEN’T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU’VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN’T YOU? YOU’VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I’VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS’ FOR A MONTH! AND I’VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO’VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT – WHO SAVED THE PHILOSOPHER’S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?”

 

Ron’s face is probably exactly what Hermione’s looked like at that moment – flabbergasted, appalled, embarrassed. And, almost as if he had listened in and chosen the worst time to announce himself, Cedric opened the door.

 

Harry, the only one whose back was to the door, turned around.

 

Hermione cursed their luck as Harry turned back slowly, his face murderous.

 

“What is _he_ doing here?” he said, his trembling voice betraying his anger.

 

Ron looked at Hermione beseechingly.

 

Hermione had had enough.

 

“He’s in hiding, Harry,” She snapped, “Like all of us, Voldemort wants him dead.”

 

Cedric’s whole body had made its way into the room now, but he had still yet to say anything. In fact, he was standing quite calmly beside the door, which he had closed so softly Hermione had not heard it.

 

“And I’m sorry!” she continued, “I’m sorry you feel left out! I’m sorry you’ve been with the Dursleys! It’s not fair, you’re right. You’re capable, _we’re all capable_ ,” Hermione said pointedly, and she was pleased to see Harry seemed just slightly embarrassed that he’d implied they weren’t able to take care of themselves. It was a bit rich, considering the position Hermione had put herself in just a few scant months ago.

 

“But getting angry at us for something out of our control is not fair.”

 

There was a strained silence, before the anger seemed to rush right out of him.

 

“What is this place, anyway?” Harry said tiredly, and Ron jumped at the chance to change the subject.

 

“Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. It’s a secret society,” Ron added at Harry’s blank look, “Dumbledore’s in charge, he founded it back when You-Know-Who was alive last time. To fight him.” There was no need to mention that Harry had ended that fight the Halloween of 1981.

 

“Who’s in it?” Harry asked, sitting down on one of the three twin beds in the room. The middle one had been left for him, and Hermione hoped the shortened divide between Cedric and Ron’s beds would shadow real life soon.

 

“Quite a few people-”

 

“I’d say we’ve met about twenty of them,” Ron said, and Hermione was sure he had. She’d still only glimpsed Professor Lupin and Mad-Eye, and spoken only to Tonks, “but we think there are more. Like I said, we haven’t been in the meetings.”

 

“The number of members has been a bit hush hush,” Hermione explained, “Even in the meetings, not everyone is present. We know there’s always at least three out on a mission at any one time.”

 

“Look,” Harry said after another stilted silence, “I’m sorry for blowing up at you-”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Harry,” Ron cut him off, and Hermione was thankful. Really, Harry had a right to be angry, and she was sure he still was. He didn’t have to apologise just so he could speak to his friends again. All that time with the Dursleys was bound to drive anyone slightly insane. “Seriously.”

 

And with that, things seemed to be forgotten. Well, most things.

 

“What are you doing here, Cedric?” Harry asked, this time with a whole lot less acidity.

 

“Fred and George-”

 

_Pop!_

 

Hermione couldn’t help but jump.

 

“Seriously, Cedders, how long do you want to take?” one of the aforementioned twins said, rolling his eyes.

 

“At this rate, the meeting will be over before the real fun’s even begun!”

 

“Why do you have to apparate _every_ time?” an exasperated voice said from the now open doorway. Ginny’s head was poking through. “Oh, hey Harry.” She smiled brightly at him.

 

“Hey, Ginny.” Finally, a smile appeared on Harry’s face.

 

“We lose the mystery, dear sister.” said Fred, Hermione guessed.

 

“Whatever. The Extendable Ears aren’t working-”

 

“Extendable Ears?” Harry asked, looking lost.

 

“The Twins’ invention – lets us hear the meetings. But Mrs Weasley caught on.” Cedric piped up, giving a nod to Harry.

 

George – once again, Hermione was guessing – gasped in outrage.

 

“Are you saying our products are _faulty_ , dear sister?”

 

“Yes, dear sister – are you saying one of our masterpieces doesn’t _function?_ ”

 

Ginny raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

 

“No,” she said slowly, “Mum’s cast an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door. Nothing’s coming through.”

 

The twins looked crestfallen.

 

“Damn,” said Ron, frowning, “I was really looking forward finding out what that slimy git’s been up to.”

 

There was only one person Ron would talk about with such distaste.

 

“Snape’s here?” Harry asked with an intrigued expression on his face.

 

“Yeah,” Ginny grumbled, entering the room fully. Cedric still stood by the door, impassive.

“Top secret progress report. He’s on our side now, apparently.” Her look of disgust was shared around the room.

 

It was this shared sentiment that lifted the atmosphere of the room as the Weasleys let Harry in on the recent happenings – Bill’s return from Egypt, Charlie’s recruitment of Romanian witches and wizards, and Percy’s promotion, which sparked a whole new conversation about Dumbledore and the Ministry. Hermione had been caught up by Ginny a few days ago.

 

“Things are pretty rocky,” the younger witch had said worriedly, “I’m glad you’re here – Bill’s so interested in Fleur and with everything about Percy- well, I need someone to talk to about normal stuff.”

 

 _Yeah,_ Hermione had thought, remembering her dreams, _normal stuff._

 

“You okay?” Hermione murmured once she reached Cedric, who remained by the door. Ron was letting Harry know about his defamation in the _Daily Prophet_.

 

“Yeah,” Cedric said, and Hermione waited in the hope he would continue. “I’m glad things are right with you three.”

 

She frowned, confused.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well,” he began, shifting from one foot to the other, “I’m glad I’m not in the way.”

 

“In the way?” Hermione repeated, still frowning. She reached down to grab Cedric’s right hand with her left, “Ced, you’re not in the way,” she said tenderly, frown clearing. Ginny was imitating Rita Skeeter quite well, if what Hermione heard in the background was anything to go by. “You, me, Ginny, the twins, Harry, Ron… we’re all a part of this now. Every single one of us. We’re in this together, our own junior Order.” Hermione joked, and thought she saw the corner of Cedric’s mouth lift up in amusement.

 

“Yeah,” he said quietly, looking away from her at the others, all sitting on the three beds and laughing, “I guess you’re right.”

 

The seven of them were interrupted by Mrs Weasley, who eyed them suspiciously. The Extendable Ears had miraculously disappeared from sight, Hermione noticed.

 

“The meeting’s over. Come downstairs for dinner – everyone’s waiting to see you, Harry!”

 

As they reached the staircase, Hermione turned around to Harry, who had been talking the loudest to Ginny.

 

“Just make sure you’re quiet on the stairs, Harry, you don’t want to-”

 

 

“Oh no!” Tonks groaned, looking up at the staircase at the veiled piece just behind Hermione, “This bloody umbrella stand needs to go-”

 

The screeching began.

 

“Here we go,” Hermione heard Ron say under his breath.

 

_“Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers-”_

 

Mrs Weasley was bustling forward, pushing them out of the way as Tonks apologised profusely in the background.

 

“Really, Nymphadora?”

 

“Shut up, Remus, you try walking past this-”

 

All of them were at the bottom of the stairs now, too amused to really help Mrs Weasley shut the curtains on the portrait of, Hermione had learned days ago, Walburga Black.

 

“Don’t just stand there!” a new voice came from the front door. Quickly, its owner went to help.

 

“ _You!_ ” howled Walburga, her portrait’s eyes fiery and manic. “ _Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!_ ”

 

“SHUT UP!” was roared in response, and finally the man and Mrs Weasley managed to close the curtains on the wretched banshee of a woman.

 

Heaving great breaths, the man turned around.

 

“Harry,” Sirius said cheerfully, sweeping his dishevelled long hair out of his eyes, “Good to see you. Not so good seeing my mother.”

 

Hermione realised, suddenly, that Cedric-

 

She turned her head.

 

In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, Cedric’s mouth was agape, and he was steadily growing more pale.

 

As if sensing he was a spectacle, Sirius looked at the two of them with his eyebrows raised, youthful grin on his face.

 

“Who’s this guy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it be noted, I have to change some more stuff about canon in this one due to the effects of UC. I’m sticking to the book as much as possible, but some of the dates of things might be slightly altered, and of course Harry won’t be as angry given Cedric didn’t die… but I figure Harry was also angry because of his age at the time, and the feeling of hopelessness. This feeling will be motivated by him being sidelined, however, in GoF by Hermione.
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy this continuation! :)


	3. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Been working heaps, and wrote some of my other stories.

"Blimey, Hermione, you didn't tell him?" Ron exclaimed, a small smile on his pale, freckled face.

"I'm sorry if the fact that Sirius Black is alive and we're in cahoots with him somehow slipped my mind, Ronald." Hermione snapped, eyeing Cedric cautiously. Her boyfriend – if she could call him that – remained standing stock still, shock etched into every inch of his face.

"Cahoots?" Sirius barked out a laugh, his haggard face transforming before her eyes into something resembling a youthful grin.

"Don't even start," Hermione scolded, scowling at her best friend's godfather. Sirius got on her nerves at the best of times. Something about the way he carried himself, the casual arrogance and the need to joke about everything…

"Give it a rest, Hermione!" Fred said with a grin after popping into existence, followed closely by his brother. Everyone but Sirius jumped at their presence. It seemed they hadn't deemed the stairs worth the effort of putting one foot in front of the other.

"I don't–"

Everyone's squabbling toned down at Cedric's quiet disbelief.

"But you're a murderer!" Cedric accused, and Hermione would have described his voice as exasperated if he didn't look so baffled by the man before him.

Sirius's expression darkened, and Hermione made a note to brief Cedric on what he could and couldn't say in front of the head of the house.

"The only murderer in this house is my blasted mother," Sirius muttered darkly, glaring at the portrait he'd just covered up.

"Your mother?" Harry asked, frowning. Hermione couldn't help but notice he shared his confusion with the girl next to him, her bright red hair swinging with her shrug.

"Yes, Harry," Sirius said, dark tone receding in place of his fondness for his godson, "You just met her, in fact."

Harry's raised eyebrows said what they were all thinking.

"This is my house, you see, so you'd be best off if you didn't insult me whilst you were in it." Sirius shot a look at Cedric through curtains of his longish hair. The latter had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. Hermione was astounded – this seemed like the most emotion to come out of Cedric since his mother died. At least, that Hermione had seen.

"I'm- Cedric." He introduced himself jerkily, looking as if he thought he should shake Sirius's hand, but then thought better of it.

"Ah," Sirius said with sudden recognition, "Diggory, yes, Harry told me about you in his letters."

There was a moment of awkward silence, before Sirius clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, effectively snapping everyone out of their shocked haze.

"Come on, Harry, we've got much to talk about," and Sirius led his godson into the meeting room, which was at the base of the stairs. The rest of the group followed, and as Hermione entered, Cedric at her heels, she saw Bill Weasley conversing quietly with his father at the end of the great big table in the centre of the room. Hermione noted with curiosity the way the table seemed both too large for the room and too small for it. The ceilings were high and cavernous, which she concluded is what gave that illusion.

Harry, the new arrival, was greeted by the remaining Weasleys with much enthusiasm, as was always the case. Hermione was happy for this, at least – a usual sight that left Harry beaming, even if he was slightly embarrassed by the long hug Ron's mother gave him.

Despite his protests, Hermione knew he loved it. Mrs Weasley was, in most ways, a mother to her best friend. And, Hermione reflected upon glancing to her left and seeing the cursed burns on Cedric's face in the firelight of the room, mothers were in short stock these days.

"I still don't understand any of this," Cedric muttered into her ear, blowing a few stray tendrils into her face.

"I'll explain later. Don't worry," Hermione added, hoping to squash any fears Cedric had that Sirius would blast him to pieces at the table. Seeing Sirius laugh boisterously opposite them seemed to put Cedric at ease. She understood – it was hard to dislike Sirius when he was happy. It was just that a happy Sirius was a rare commodity.

"This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings," Mrs Weasley snapped, and Hermione glimpsed rolls of parchment being hastily shoved into Bill's hands. Her eldest son promptly vanished them.

_Order business, no doubt._

As Mrs Weasley rustled up some help in the kitchen, and Harry started chatting to Sirius, Hermione figured now was a good a time as any to give an explanation that would be sufficient enough for the seventh year Hufflepuff to understand.

"Long story short," Hermione began, turning her head toward Cedric. He looked focused, intent eyes boring stubbornly into her own, "Sirius is innocent. He was framed by someone else. Do you–" Hermione stopped suddenly, unsure whether continuing was appropriate conversation for what would be the dinner table, but ploughed on anyway, "Do you remember the man at the graveyard?" Hermione was whispering now, trying to keep their conversation private. Next to Cedric, Tonks was amusing Ginny with her Metamorphagus powers.

Cedric's expression darkened.

"You mean besides Voldemort?"

Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from chastising him, and simply replied to him.

"Well, he was the murderer. Framed Sirius for everything and then, because he was an illegal Animagus, transformed to escape. Needless to say, Fudge doesn't believe a word. So, Sirius is a wanted man."

"And he's Harry's godfather?" Cedric asked, looking across at her best friend.

Suddenly, a pot full of stew flew across the table, marking it up nicely and leaving Mrs Weasley fuming. The twins were apologising profusely.

"Yes," Hermione answered, seeing the way both godfather and godson laughed at the antics before them, a smile of her own on her face, "Sometimes I think Sirius is the only family Harry has got."

"Not the only family," Cedric murmured, shooting a quick glance at Mrs Weasley before the conversation at the table took an awkward turn and Bill proposed dinner.

"It looks wonderful, Molly," Lupin said, smiling kindly. Hermione hadn't noticed him arrive, and saw a perky Tonks smile brightly at him. He sat near Sirius, who looked smug despite his supposed incarceration in his childhood home.

"Professor Lupin?" Cedric spluttered, staring at him in wonder, "How are you?"

"Cedric," Lupin said warmly, "I've been getting by. It's good to see you again, it's been a while."

"Yeah, it has."

Lupin cleared his throat.

"I was sorry to hear about your mother. She was… a kind woman."

Cedric's shoulders slumped slightly, and Hermione put her hand in his as a way to comfort him. He squeezed back, thankful.

"Thanks," Cedric croaked, and Mrs Weasley loudly changed the subject to the cleaning of Grimmauld Place. Hermione wanted to groan – hadn't they done enough? Her leg had been smarting for days. Of course, having had a severe compound fracture in it only a few months ago would do that. Newly healed breaks still needed care, despite magical medicine.

It seemed none of them had come out of last year unscathed, unscarred.

After that, dinner was nowhere near a quiet affair, but it was significantly more relaxed. Hermione didn't feel like she was treading on eggshells every time she opened her mouth, her hand still firmly placed in Cedric's. Hermione even saw Cedric huff out some laughter at Mundungus's business dealing anecdotes, despite Mrs Weasley's disapproval. He and Ron, even, shared a look and a laugh. Hermione felt like maybe this could all work out, one way or another. She wasn't sure about Cedric's friends – didn't really know them all that well, and he never spoke of them. Hermione wasn't sure he was used to such a close-knit environment as the Weasley dinner, where huge tables were full of food and surrounded by masses of people. Hermione imagined his dinners alone at the Diggory place, and felt the stirrings of pity in her belly.

Feeling sorry for him would do no good, she decided. She'd tried that at the end of the last school year, and he hadn't been at all receptive. Then again, the death of his mother had been fresh in his mind and in his heart.

Grief was terrible, and it never went away. Hermione supposed they would just have to get used to it.

Other things weren't so quickly swept aside, however.

"You know, I'm surprised at you," Sirius said, turning to Harry. Given the rest of the conversations at the table had died out after dessert had been devoured, it was clearly audible. "I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

At the name a kind of hush fell over the table, despite its low volume prior. Cedric had sat up slightly, and the adults all looked wary. Mrs Weasley, Hermione noted, was glaring at Sirius.

"I did!" Harry defended himself, "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so–"

"Yes," Mrs Weasley confirmed, pursing her lips shrewdly, "They're right, you're all far too young."

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" asked Sirius, raising his eyebrows at Molly, "Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got a right to know what's been happen–"

"Wait a second!" George interrupted loudly, a look on outrage on his face.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us anything!" continued Fred in his brother's stead.

"Harry's not even of age!" George exclaimed.

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing," Sirius responded, unruffled, "That's your parents' decision. Harry, on the other hand–"

"It's not up to you to decide what Harry should or should not know!" Mrs Weasley rebutted, her face twisting with her indignation.

"And I suppose it's up to you, then, is it?" Sirius countered, and Hermione was shocked at that. Despite his callousness, Hermione wasn't sure Sirius had it in him to be so…  _disrespectful_  to Mrs Weasley. After all, Hermione figured, Mrs Weasley was there when Sirius wasn't.

_He couldn't help that. It's not his fault._

"He's only fifteen," Mrs Weasley fired back, obviously choosing not to respond to the jibe made at her, "He's still–"

"He's  _not_  a child!" Sirius exclaimed, and the table went silent, "After all this lot have been through, you can't honestly think they are still children, Molly? Harry's faced Voldemort  _twice_ , with the help of his friends. Hermione and Cedric  _fought_  the monster. Your daughter was  _possessed_  by him–"

Hermione didn't want to figure out the look on Mrs Weasley's face, but she wasn't sure she'd seen hatred that intense on such a normally kind person.

"Be that as it may," Mrs Weasley interrupted, voice calm but deadly, "He is not an adult, either. He is not  _James_ , Sirius."

"I'm pretty clear on that," Sirius snarked back, glaring at the redheaded matriarch.

"I hope so," Mrs Weasley said waspishly, standing from her chair to lean forward menacingly, "Because sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back."

"Mrs Weasley–"

"No, Harry, it's fine," Sirius interrupted, and then turned to Mrs Weasley once more, "I'm trying to keep him alive, Molly–"

"And I am not?" She replied shrilly, "He may not be a child but he still needs a childhood, Sirius! Or have you forgotten where your recklessness left him last time?"

Sirius stood furiously, knocking over his chair, and there were concerned murmurs around the table.

"That's enough!" Harry shouted, standing with him.

"Harry," Mrs Weasley began softly.

"No! You're all talking about me as if – as if, as if I'm not  _here_. Well I am!" Harry exclaimed defiantly. "And I want to know! Voldemort–" A few of the adults shuddered at the name, and Hermione herself remembered green light and fire all too vividly, "is back, Hermione saw him and I felt it. We need to know certain things so we can protect ourselves."

"Personally," Lupin said after a moment of silence in which both Sirius and Mrs Weasley had sat back down, anger still evident, "I think it might be best if Harry hears it from us, and not from other, less reputable sources…"

Mrs Weasley's face hardened.

"Arthur?" She demanded, turning to look at her husband.

Mr Weasley seemed tired, wiping a hand down his face and adjusting his glasses. He was weary, she sensed. Hermione knew what that felt like intimately.

"Perhaps it would be best if Harry asked us some questions. We don't have to answer," he added after Mrs Weasley opened her mouth to speak, "But he and his friends are owed  _some_  things. After all, not all of them are merely fifteen."

At that, he looked at Cedric so intently that the younger man fidgeted slightly.

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips once more, glancing at Cedric with a mixture of sadness, anger and pity.

"We all care about you, Harry," Lupin told Harry gently, ignoring Sirius next to him who was staring down at his empty dessert bowl with a blank expression.

"I don't want the others to hear this – Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, Ginny – go up to bed now."

"What!" Fred and George shouted, suddenly red in the face.

"If Harry can be here, why can't I?" Ron said through gritted teeth.

"Mum," Ginny groaned, "This is stupid,"

"NO! I won't have it! Harry is one thing–"

"Molly, the twins are of age, legal adults…"

"And Harry will just tell me and Hermione everything, anyway!"

"Of course I will. Ginny, too."

The youngest Weasley beamed.

"Fine!" shouted Mrs Weasley, looking so angry she was close to tears, "FINE!"

After the loaded conversation about Voldemort's whereabouts and operations, Hermione and the rest of them were ordered up to bed by Mrs Weasley, who'd had enough once Sirius let slip information about a weapon of some kind.

And Dumbledore – his absence was obvious, but welcome to Hermione. She wasn't sure she'd be able to face him with a straight face again. Not anytime soon, anyway.

In a way, she understood. The Headmaster was doing what he thought necessary to defeat Voldemort. For all she knew, if she hadn't gone into that graveyard, Harry might have been able to defeat him once and for all. Or, maybe, Voldemort might not have been able to return.

But what ifs and could haves would do Hermione no good. She was here now, having had survived an encounter with the deadliest Dark wizard of her time. Cedric was alive, despite the scarring etched into his body.

Dumbledore was dangerous, that was for sure. Voldemort himself was scared of him; Dumbledore was his greatest enemy. As long as Dumbledore was around, Voldemort would not be able to gain the upper hand.

Hermione supposed she would have to live with that, for now. After all, it was for the greater good that she do just that.

She was really starting to hate it, though.

 

\---

 

The next morning dawned bright and early, and with infestations of doxies to get rid of.

Just before she donned the right attire to deal with doxies and their poison, the twins sidled up to her.

"We wanted to say thanks," Fred said quietly. It was getting easier for her to tell the difference between the two now that she was spending more time with them. It wasn't so much what they looked like as it was their mannerisms.

"For what?" Hermione feigned ignorance, smiling. Mrs Weasley was filling in Harry and Ron on the morning's expected proceedings.

"You know what," George grumbled, elbowing her lightly. Hermione huffed out a laugh.

"Don't worry about it. It's what Harry would have done. Just," Hermione added after a moment, frowning, "Just don't update me on what you're doing with it. It's probably best I don't know."

"Gotcha," Fred winked, "George, I'm sure our dear friend Harry would love to hear about the research for our Skiving Snackboxes,"

"Yes, my brother," George said, his playful tone imitating his twin's, "I'm sure he would,"

Hermione could safely say she'd spent more enjoyable mornings than the one that passed that day, and the days after. It seemed like they spent every day up to and including Harry's hearing making number twelve Grimmauld Place passably liveable.

Kreacher, Sirius's house elf, spent the whole time grumbling. Although Hermione was happy he wasn't helping – he was still a slave, after all – she couldn't help but be surprised at the lack of care he'd taken the past years in maintaining the place. All the house elves Hermione had met were, slave or not, enthusiastically efficient.

 _Maybe if he was paid, things would be different,_ Hermione thought grimly.

Things settled into a rhythm after that. Breakfast, cleaning, lunch, cleaning, afternoon tea, cleaning, free time, dinner, bed.

Mrs Weasley ran an efficient but tiresomely boring task force, and Hermione now understood Sirius's glum moods by the end of the second day.

Even though Sirius was cleaning the least out of all of them, he seemed the most affected by the dark wooden floors and gloomy atmosphere of the house. She often witnessed him going off on his own, and assumed he was retreating to the garden, or to keep Buckbeak company. Two things he seemed to favour, considering the house he was trapped in.

"Maybe you should say something," Ron whispered to Harry on the fourth day, "He looks a bit unhinged."

"He's not  _unhinged_ ," Harry snapped, shaking off the particularly nasty grip of a particularly nasty doxy. He sprayed it in the face, and it froze comically. It gave a loud thud upon landing in the bucket at their feet.

"Harry, he's obviously unhappy," Hermione prodded, dusting the bookshelf nearest to her. All these books… she'd have to peruse them one day.

_If the cleaning stops._

"I know," Harry mumbled miserably, "I just don't know what to do. Dumbledore doesn't want him going out."

A surge of frustration rose in her, and she blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Dumbledore doesn't always know what's best, Harry," Hermione snapped, dusting with a little more fervour. "Sirius is a person, and this house is a prison to him."

Harry looked at her evenly for a moment, considering.

"Hermione's right, Harry," Ron emphasised, "It's only a matter of time before Sirius does something he's going to regret."

"I'll talk to him," Harry muttered, and Mrs Weasley's subsequent announcement of lunch effectively ended the conversation.

As for Cedric – well, Mrs Weasley had set to it that he and Hermione would work on opposite sides of the room. Despite having assured the older woman that first night, she seemed to think if they stood any closer than ten metres apart, Hermione and Cedric would start snogging passionately in front of everyone.

It was a few nights before the return to Hogwarts, after Harry had been cleared of all charges, that she finally got the chance to talk to him properly, although it wasn't under the best of circumstances.

Despite Ginny's efforts to keep conversation light before bed, Hermione dreamt of things she wished she'd forget. She'd been waking up each night, short of breath, trying to forget flashes of a basilisk in a mirror, a real-life chess set, and red eyes surrounded by fire.

She woke that night from a particularly bad dream. Not Death-Seer bad, as those had abated in the presence of Cedric, but definitely bad. Unpleasant. Red eyes laughed at her, and Cedric was burning before her eyes.

When she woke up it was sweet relief, followed by agonising pain.

Biting her lip almost bloody in an attempt to contain her pained cries, Hermione sat up, cradling her left leg gently.

Breathing through her nose heavily, she started to knead at the muscles surrounding the months-old break.

Her leg always ached after the nightmares, as if to remind her that whilst her mind might try to forget the terrors it had endured, her body would not.

It was hard to fall back asleep after that.

Her aching leg took her downstairs, seeking a non-traditional nightcap to distract her from the pain. Hot chocolate would do, she decided upon viewing the meagre groceries in the kitchen.

Mixing up her drink, and blowing on it to cool it off after a particularly strong heating charm (there were so many of them in the house that underage magic went by unnoticed, although Hermione seemed to be the only one amongst her friends with that knowledge), Hermione made her way to the dark library, which was surprisingly cosy considering the house it resided in. She stopped just outside the door, however, upon hearing muffled voices from the other side.

"– sometimes I just want to run out there naked and declare my person for the whole world the see," That was Sirius, chuckling.

"I wouldn't recommend that," returned another voice with amusement, and Hermione couldn't help the lift of her eyebrows in her surprise.

Cedric was talking to Sirius.

"Don't worry," Sirius replied, and Hermione heard the grin in his voice, "I'll keep everything PG-rated around the kids."

Cedric snorted, and there was a moment of silence. Hermione wondered whether she should break it, announce her presence. But the thought alone seemed too intrusive – this conversation seemed important, although they seemed to be discussing trivial things.

"You know that once you turn eighteen, we'll induct you into the Order if you want."

"I don't need a parent's permission?" The question was posed in good humour.

Hermione waited with bated breath, hoping for something a little more substantial.

Sirius snorted.

"I met your father once, years ago. If he's anything like he was then, I imagine he doesn't worry himself with the war on Voldemort." Sirius seemed to realise what he'd just said, and to whom, for he began to apologise.

"It's fine," Cedric interrupted him, "You're right. He doesn't."

Hermione imagined Cedric would have a troubled look on his face, but outside the door into the library she could still only hear them, not see them.

"But I think I'll wait 'til I'm out of Hogwarts," Cedric said finally.

"Hermione give you that advice?"

"No, actually," Cedric remarked, acting surprised, "She didn't say anything."

"As much as I hate to agree with Molly Weasley," Sirius huffed, "She's right. None of you should be in the Order until you've left school. You should definitely know  _more_ ," Sirius added, as if he needed to make sure he wasn't in complete agreement with Mrs Weasley, "But what we're dealing with is too much when you've got OWLs and NEWTs on your plates."

"Not going to mean much if we're dead by twenty, though."

There was a shift of material, Hermione heard, and she presumed Sirius was adjusting his position on the couches in the library, ready to speak once more.

She'd imposed on the conversation long enough. Turning the doorknob, she composed her face into one of surprise upon looking at the pair of them sitting down.

"Oh, I didn't realise anyone else was up." She hoped her tone of surprise was convincing. Neither of the men sitting gave her an incredulous look, so she counted it as a win.

"I was just leaving," Sirius announced, standing up and stretching. "Don't stay up too late, you two. I expect Molly will have all of us cleaning bright and early."

And with that, he strode out of the room.

"Couldn't sleep?" Cedric asked softly as she sat down.

"Woke up, actually," Hermione explained, offering her hot chocolate to Cedric for a sip. He took it with a small smile, leaving Hermione stunned. This was the closest, emotionally, she'd felt to him in weeks. She was counting all those months over summer.

They sat in comfortable silence for a fair few minutes. Hermione's eyes were starting to droop, the hot chocolate having its calming effect on her. It was ironic that as soon as it was starting to kick in, Hermione didn't want to go back to sleep at all.

"I have them, too, you know," Cedric started. Hermione frowned at him in confusion, "The dreams."

His clarification left goose bumps on her bare arms. She was wearing her summer pyjamas: a too-large t-shirt and shorts. Suddenly, she felt horribly exposed.

"I'm sorry," Cedric apologised after another silence, and Hermione looked up from where she'd been picking at a loose thread on her shorts. Cedric looked remorseful, if a little tense. He was slightly pale, although Hermione supposed that was the moonlight streaming in from the window. The dark circles under his eyes seemed more shadowed than ever before. Really, he looked tired. Hermione could relate.

"It's been…  _difficult_  recently." He continued jerkily, gently grasping one of her hands. He placed the hot chocolate back in the other. "My father hasn't exactly been the most… present… of people." His bitter tone betrayed his careful choice of words. Hermione was sure Cedric had a lot more to say about his father and the type of person he was. Cedric's face on Kings Cross platform months ago flashed through her mind. Cedric had been miserable at the thought of reuniting with his father. Hermione shuddered to think of what Cedric had been like, those first few days.

"I understand," Hermione murmured, entwining their fingers. One of her thumbs was caressing Cedric's hand tentatively.

"You get along well," Hermione said, looking into Cedric's face intently, "With him." She jerked her head toward the door, indicating the man who had just left them.

"Get along is relative," Cedric stated, shaking his head, "We understand each other. Sort of like you and me."

The proclamation stunned her. Hermione understanding Cedric? The idea was almost laughable. Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever understood him. Maybe he understood her at times, probably far more than other people, but there were parts of her he'd questioned, parts he'd rejected. Hermione had been tired of explaining herself to him by the end. He hadn't understood her then, not even at the most pivotal moment.

"Do we?" Hermione asked gently. Cedric tilted his head, prompting her onwards. "Understand each other, that is."

"I want us to." Cedric murmured, bringing their hands up to his face. He planted a soft kiss to the back of her hand. It felt warm, and dry. Hermione was sure if he'd wanted to, Cedric could have sent her to sleep with such a kiss elsewhere. It was comfort, pure and simple.

"I can't promise I'll be okay, but I can try to be."

Hermione smiled.

"None of us are okay, Cedric," Hermione said, her smile turning sad, "It's about time you realised that."

Hermione thought of Harry, how angry he seemed. He was being left out of the loop, the recipient of a burden no one should have to carry. She thought of Sirius, cooped up in his childhood nightmare of a home and wanted for murder. She thought of Ron, constantly feeling overshadowed by his older siblings. She thought of Ginny, who had been possessed by an evil wizard and come out the other side some shade of normal, a miracle in and of itself. Hermione thought of herself, struggling with visions of death and past terrors, untrusting of the only person who could probably help her through all of it,

"I'm beginning to." Cedric replied. There was a pause before he extracted his hand from hers, and stood. Leaning over, her gave her a lingering kiss on the forehead before muttering a goodnight and retreating to his bedroom.

 

\---

 

"Prefect? Ron, oh, I'm so proud!" Mrs Weasley gushed, tugging her youngest son into her arms. Ron was bright red, acting disgruntled. But Hermione noticed the way he hugged his mother back, happy for the attention.

He was scowling a few minutes later, though, when the twins were ribbing him about it,

Hermione felt a little guilty, having assumed Harry was prefect so quickly. Surely he was a shoe-in… but then again, Ron could be a leader when he wanted to be. Ron was good at listening, when he wanted to. It would just take the right motivation…

Dumbledore always seemed to have some sort of plan, besides, however much Hermione might have been bitter about that fact.

Harry seemed awfully joyous at first, but soon mellowed out into something a bit more genuine when she came back from owling her parents about her new prefect-ship. Maybe it would take the salt from the wound of her leaving without telling them. Tonks had said it hadn't been a problem, but the light-hearted witch was probably leaving out a few choice words her parents had wanted Tonks to relay to her.

"Don't tell Mrs Weasley I'm Head Boy this year," Cedric muttered in Hermione's ear as he sat down at the dinner table. A banner proclaiming Hermione and Ron's new achievements hung above them.

"What?!" Hermione exclaimed as she turned to Cedric, attracting the attention of a few of those around them. She smiled apologetically at them before turning back around.

"Head boy?" Hermione whispered excitedly, "Why didn't you say anything?"

Cedric rolled his eyes, and Hermione was so thankful for these more recent displays of emotion. Nothing had scared her quite as much as seeing Cedric's deadened face, no matter how alive he seemed.

"Why do you think? Look around you."

"Alright," Hermione conceded, still smiling brightly at him, "Your secret is safe with me. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Cedric seemed genuinely pleased, and Hermione liked the look on him, "I think… I think Mum would've been proud."

"She would've," Hermione affirmed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, "Definitely."

The next day was mayhem, as per usual. Hermione wasn't sure what she expected, but calm on the day the Hogwarts Express would be at platform nine and three quarters would be impossible, she was sure.

"HURRY UP!" Mrs Weasley was shouting, and Hermione held Crookshanks to her a little more tightly as she ran down the stairs, thankful that she'd had the foresight to pack everything up neatly and thoroughly the night before.

Sirius's mother was shouting up a storm, making things even more difficult. At one point, with Walburga screaming in her ear but Hermione looking at Ron's mother, it seemed like Mrs Weasley was the one spouting out pureblood doctrine instead of the arrangements she'd made for them to get to King's Cross.

Sirius, now a great black dog, stood defiantly by Harry's side. Hermione assumed he was now coming.

 _Well,_  Hermione thought despite her misgivings,  _he needs it._

Ginny, Ron, Cedric and herself were accompanied by Mr. Weasley, who was chatting amicably a little ahead of them.

The guard system was effective, but Hermione couldn't help but note there was only so much two wizards could do against more than two Death Eaters if they were to appear, when they had four other people to protect. Although, Hermione supposed, it was probably just the illusion of safety that they were trying to project. Death Eaters were weak, still.

All of them met on the platform, Lupin arriving with the Twins seconds after her group had.

As the train gave its departing whistle, they all rushed onto the train. Hermione glimpsed Cedric giving Sirius a rough pat before hopping onto the train behind her.

"I'm not sure he should have come with us," said Hermione hesitantly.

"Lighten up," said Ron, "The poor bloke's been locked away for months. How would you feel?"

Hermione stowed away her concerns for later. Ron was right. No one had recognised Sirius, and he had seemed happier, even as a dog, than he had been in the weeks they were at Grimmauld Place.

"I'm really sorry, Harry," Hermione began, looking at him imploringly, "We've got to go to the prefect's compartment. Just for the first half hour!"

Ron looked chagrined.

"It's fine," Harry said distractedly, looking at the three of them. That Cedric would be going with seemingly didn't need to be said. "I've got Ginny," He grinned at the shorter girl, who rolled her eyes.

"Come on, then," Hermione heard her say as the three of them walked down the corridor away from them, "If we get a move on we'll be able to save them places."

"That was the most boring thing on the planet! I'm starving!" Ron groaned when they returned an hour later. He glanced at Cedric, cringing, "Sorry."

"No, you're completely right," Cedric said with an upward quirk of his lips, "I could've told you being a prefect wouldn't be glamorous, though."

Ron just grunted in response, tearing into the Chocolate Frog Harry had offered him.

"Malfoy's prefect," Hermione began, a headache already forming behind her temples. He'd been a pain in the meeting. Hermione did not want to imagine what the rest of the year would be like with him in any position of authority over others.

"I figured," Harry said dryly after thanking Ginny, who'd passed him a Pumpkin Pastie.

"Congratulations, Cedric," Luna Lovegood's dreamy voice drifted across the compartment. Hermione had been trying to ignore her. Luna was… different. Whilst her honesty was sometimes welcome, it often came with confusing anecdotes and false beliefs that left Hermione flabbergasted and slightly ruffled. Luna, for all she spouted such things, didn't seem to care.

Oh, how Hermione wished she wouldn't care herself.

"Err, thanks."

"For what?" Ginny asked, looking between Cedric and Luna with interest.

"Cedric's Head Boy." Hermione announced, ignoring the sharp look he sent her.

"Oh," Ron had looked taken aback at the meeting when Cedric and Angelina Johnson had stood up to conduct it, but it was nothing compared to the expression on Harry's face, "Well done, then."

"Merlin, I hope I'm not prefect," Ginny said loudly, drawing everyone's attention. Hermione grinned to herself when she saw the way Harry's eyes wandered over Ginny's shining, luscious hair. That boy was hopeless. "Looks like me and Harry will be the only ones having fun this year."

"Yes," Luna agreed dreamily, "The hobgobs surrounding you both support that claim."

Ginny laughed.

"Thanks, Luna."

Neville joined in on the conversation soon after, only to be interrupted by the opening of the compartment door. All of their heads swivelled to take in the new arrivals, their faces falling once they saw who it was.

"Well, well, if it isn't Potter and his idiot friends,"

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ginny growled.

"Careful," Malfoy warned darkly, his slick white hair shining in the sun from the window. Hermione wanted to rip it off his stupid, pureblood head. "Or I'll have to give you detention."

"You need to leave," Cedric said, standing. Suddenly everyone was quiet. Even Malfoy's goons Crabbe and Goyle had ceased their snickering.

"Diggory," Malfoy acknowledged, trying to hide his surprise, "Didn't expect to see you here with the likes of…" His gaze swept across Hermione, who had been glaring at him. His eyes narrowed, "–  _them._ "

"Leave." Cedric demanded, taking a step forward. Malfoy faltered only for a moment, before departing with a swish of his school cloak, Crabbe and Goyle stomping off after him.

"You're alright, mate," Ron declared good-naturedly, giving Cedric a friendly clap on the back as he sat back down. Hermione held back a chuckle at the affronted look on Cedric's face.

Leaving the train later, and noticing Hagrid's absence was all a blur. Even after separating from Cedric, who went toward his uneasy looking friends at the Hufflepuff table, the Sorting Hat's new song went by far too quickly. The introduction of Dolores Umbridge, the Ministry woman, seemed far away and distant. Showing the first years where to go, she felt wholly unenthusiastic.

Hermione was exhausted, in short. The relief she felt at being back within the walls of her favourite place left her listless and droopy-eyed.

When she finally got to her dormitory, having had to scold Ron throughout their prefect duties, she ignored Parvati and Lavender's giggling and got ready for bed.

Closing the curtains on her four-poster, Hermione flopped down onto her pillow. Within minutes, she was asleep.

That's when the real dreams began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had trouble ending this, but hopefully it doesn’t feel like too much of a fillery chapter. I hate all this start of school stuff, it’s why I started UC about a third through the GoF canon.
> 
> Let me know what you think! :)


	4. Birthdays And Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated New Year’s! Deeply apologetic for the wait. Why does my life get crazy every time I need to write? It’s been a tough few weeks, but I’m here and I’m writing, which makes me optimistic for the future. Hope you like this one! :)

_She couldn't see his face. That was the first thing she noticed. Which was completely unlike her other dreams, where the fact that she was staring at Cedric Diggory was painfully obvious and wholly unsettling._

_The walls were dark and gloomy. Hermione recognised Grimmauld Place at once, with its dank décor and the chill in the air. She shivered, rubbing her arms to no avail. The cold was permeating into every inch of her, and she felt it eclipse her heart within a matter of seconds._

" _Why won't he look at me?" Hermione asked Ginny, who stood to her right. Ginny shrugged, her usually bright hair now looking a deep red like blood. Her lips matched, and her brown eyes glittered happily._

" _Who cares, Hermione? Just enjoy yourself!"_

_Suddenly, like someone was editing scenes in a film, Hermione was transported to the Great Hall. Wait a second… hadn't they been there the whole time? Cedric still wasn't looking at her, but his shoulders looked relaxed underneath his black, fitted suit. Ginny's dark red hair and lips matched her dark red dress, and she was holding a goblet of what looked to be wine – but that couldn't be right, Ginny was only fourteen._

_Hermione frowned, shoving those thoughts away as Cedric's tall figure began to move away from her. Keen to find him and turn him around, to look into those grey eyes and smile, Hermione followed suit. Weaving in and out of the crowd – why was the Great Hall so packed? Not even this many people went to Hogwarts – Hermione bumped into others on the way, muttering apologies and not letting her eyes leave Cedric._

_When she finally caught up to him, it was with a triumphant smile on her face. Ready to gloat, she grabbed his arm and spun him around._

_His look of complete ignorance stopped her short, and the smile on her face dimmed somewhat._

" _Cedric?" Hermione asked, stepping closer. Cedric was warm where she was cold, and she wanted him to wrap his arms around her and never let go, "It's me. It's Hermione."_

_Despite telling him, he still looked just as confused as before as he stared at her face._

" _I'm sorry, you must be mistaken," He said, removing her hand from his arm gently, "Hermione's not here tonight."_

" _What are you talking about?" Hermione asked, laughing. "It's me!"_

" _No, it's not." Cedric's hands lifted to her face, and it was only upon his fingers touching the mask that sat there that Hermione realised she was wearing one. "Hermione would never hide like this."_

" _I'm not hiding," Hermione chuckled, rolling her eyes. Cedric's hands lowered, and he looked doubtful. "Fine," Hermione sighed exasperatedly, "Here."_

_Reaching up, Hermione pulled the mask from her face. Or, at least, she tried to. It wouldn't budge, not matter how hard she pulled or what angle she did it from. It was like someone had super-glued it there in her sleep._

_Suddenly, nothing was funny._

" _Get it off!" Hermione screeched, still trying to push it away from her face, "Get it off me!"_

" _No," Cedric said coldly, looking at her with something akin to disgust – Hermione wasn't sure, she wasn't used to such an expression coming from him. His eyes were hard, the grey like steel. "Only you can do that."_

_And he turned around, dismissing her._

" _Cedric!" Hermione exclaimed, "CEDRIC! HELP ME! GET IT OFF! IT'S ME, IT'S HERMIONE, I SWEAR! CEDRIC, PLEASE!"_

" _I'm afraid you're alone this time, Miss Granger," a voice said from behind her, and she whirled around just in time to see Dumbledore's grim face before –_

Hermione jerked awake, her eyes glimpsing the tell-tale orange of her cat as he fled from her bed. Spluttering, Hermione removed stray cat hairs from her mouth.

Crookshanks. It had just been Crookshanks sitting near her face.

Wiping sweat from her brow, Hermione heaved a great sigh of relief. Her covers were strewn away from her, like she'd kicked them off in her sleep. She was cold, she realised. Goosebumps decorated her bare arms, and she quickly pulled up the sheets to retain the last remaining warmth she had.

Lying back down, she sighed heavily.

Her mind was playing tricks on her. This was new. Normally it was dreams of a future that troubled her but instead those were gone, replaced with cryptic dreams that had Cedric leaving her, betraying her. Dumbledore's hostility was no surprise, but it still hurt.

Picking up her watch, Hermione saw that it was around five o'clock. The first day of term was off to a good start, she mused to herself wryly.

_Well, there's no point in going back to sleep now. May as well get ready and do some reading before breakfast._

With that decided, Hermione got out of bed wearily, draping herself in her favourite dressing gown from home and trudging as quietly as she could to the bathroom. It would be good to have a shower before the other girls for once. Normally, her morning showers were pitifully short given the time her dorm-mates took to take their own. Despite hating to rush, she was normally left to it every morning at Hogwarts.

The shower was cleansing, ironically enough – the hot water soothed her tense muscles, and the worries clouding her head seemed to fade away with the stream, seeping out through her pores.

Getting out, drying herself off, and getting dressed was a leisurely affair. Hermione felt the most put-together she had in months, and it showed. In the mirror, her cheeks were flushed a healthy red, and her hair wasn't nearly as wild as usual given she'd been able to dry it properly. Her uniform was neat, pristine, and her eyes were wide with alertness.

If she could have a routine as slowly paced as the one that morning for the rest of term, she would be set. But somehow, she didn't imagine herself getting up around five every day to do so.

It was about an hour or so into her reading that the first of her roommates emerged from behind their own hanging curtains. Lavender's black hair fell in tight curls over her shoulders, her dark skin looking stark in the morning sun.

"Oh," Lavender stated upon seeing her, stopped short like Hermione was a physical barrier she could not pass. "You're up."

Despite her good start to the day, Hermione bristled at the tone.

"Yes," She snapped, closing her book with a loud _thump_. Lavender was looking at her uneasily. "Is that a problem?"

"So you're sticking by it, then?" Lavender asked shortly, shoving her perfectly pedicured feet into slippers, and grabbing her folded uniform from on top of her trunk. Hermione frowned, remembering the house elves who did all this whilst they were sleeping. "That he's back? The _Prophet_ says it's all nonsense–"

"Well the _Prophet_ wasn't there, were they?" Hermione responded sharply. Lavender looked taken aback, her bag of toiletries clutched tightly in her other hand. Her red and gold tie looked like it might slip off the pile of clothes she was carrying. Hermione eyed it warily.

"I'll see you in class, Lavender." Hermione dismissed her, shoving her book in her bag and sweeping her hair out of her face before leaving the room and heading down the stairs, mumbling to herself underneath her breath in frustration.

Meeting her friends down in the common room and hearing about Seamus's similar disbelief gnawed at her, but Hermione shook herself internally and let it go.

"We've got other things to worry about, Harry," She consoled her friend, who looked angry at a house mate of his doubting what he had felt and what his own friend had experienced. "Like – oh, for goodness sake. Fred! George!"

"Yes, Her-my-own?" A ginger head popped into her vision, its counterpart following closely behind. Hermione rolled her eyes, snatching the paper from the noticeboard situated in the Gryffindor common room.

"You know we can't allow you to test your products on students."

"We know you can't allow us, Hermione." George said, and his twin nodded in agreement, "But what you don't know, you can't not allow."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, lost.

"Can we go?" Ron groaned, ignoring his brothers. She supposed he was used to their confusing talk, "I'm starved."

"Yeah, Ron," Harry grinned, clapping his friend on his back as they walked through the portrait hole. The twins followed them, looking secretive as they spoke in low tones and only to each other. "We can go."

"Hey guys," Ginny greeted them as they sat at the table. The twins were long gone, and Hermione suspected they were off to another house's table in an attempt to accrue a more diverse clientele. Hermione honestly didn't want to know. She was starting to regret giving them that money…

"Hey," Harry replied, smiling warmly at the youngest Weasley. He sat down next to her, and luckily Hermione and Ron had had the foresight to walk down the opposite side of the Gryffindor table, and so took their seats. Her back now facing the rest of the hall, Hermione eagerly dug into her breakfast.

"Look," Harry said, and she looked up from her _Daily Prophet_. Even though it said she was a lying hag, it was good to keep up to date on what others were writing about you. Besides, Skeeter wasn't writing anymore and to Hermione, nothing could be worse than her. Her trick at the end of the last school year had dealt with that. "McGonagall's giving out the timetables."

"Double Potions!" Ron exclaimed once he'd received his, looking abruptly pale despite the copious amount of food he'd just scoffed down. Normally he was perkier after a good meal. "And History of Magic! Merlin, kill me!" He groaned, rubbing at his eyes as if he were suddenly exhausted.

"At least we've got Double Defense later," Harry said, looking just as put out.

"Yeah, but that Umbridge woman is teaching this year." Ginny pointed out, finishing off her apple with a large bite. "Personally, I'm not looking forward to it. Got her first. I'll let you know at lunch how she is."

"Put it this way, Ron," Hermione said, tearing her eyes away from the matching smiles near her, "After today, the rest of the week will be easy."

"Says you," Ron grumbled, but Hermione forgave him. It was a Monday, she understood.

"I _would_ point out that at least you don't have double Divination, but I'm thinking that would make you even more irate," A new voice spoke up, and both Hermione and Ron turned around.

Cedric had a small smile on his face, and his yellow and black tie was slightly crooked. Her chest warmed at the sight, the dreams of hours previous completely forgotten.

"You'd be right," Ron grumbled again, turning back to his porridge dejectedly.

"What subjects are you taking this year, Cedric?" Harry asked politely after a gulp of pumpkin juice. Cedric took a seat next to her, and his thigh brushed up against her own. He was unbelievably warm, and all Hermione wanted to do was move closer.

"Divination," Cedric started, frowning down at his own schedule, "Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defence, Potions, Transfiguration, and Muggle Studies."

"No Arithmancy?" Hermione inquired, frowning. Cedric was certainly smart enough for it.

"No," Cedric replied with amusement, looking at her from the corner of his eyes, "No point when you want to be a Healer,"

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione started, still frowning. "Healers would seriously benefit from–"

"Alright," Ginny said loudly, interrupting her. Hermione missed the grateful look her best friends gave the younger Gryffindor. She stood, stretching. "I'm off to Defence, hope Umbridge doesn't dock points for not arriving early."

And with a swift flick of her hair, she strode off toward the exit, her book bag light at her side. Hermione withheld a smile – Ginny hated text books, and spent most of her time learning the content through group discussion.

The clanging of the school bell suddenly sounded, signalling the end of breakfast. Students began grasping at the food in front of them before it all disappeared, some younger Ravenclaws looking disappointed when they weren't quick enough. Spotting the open books in front of them, Hermione guessed they'd been too busy reading during breakfast to eat much.

"I'll see you at lunch," Cedric murmured, and Hermione looked at him and smiled. She nodded, and was surprised by the quick kiss he planted her on lips before grabbing his own bag and departing.

Harry and Ron gave each other a look.

"What?" Hermione asked, feeling her cheeks glow red.

"Nothing," Ron said innocuously, grinning. Hermione scowled.

History of Magic was boring, even for History of Magic standards. Hermione took notes, of course, but Professor Binns seemed even more dead than usual and by the end, Hermione wasn't sure she'd be able to face Professor Snape in such a lethargic state and come out with her dignity intact.

As they made their way to the dungeons, Harry and Ron discussing the success of the Tornadoes in the last Quidditch season – a topic of conversation Hermione happily drowned out – Hermione thought about Cedric, as she was wont to do.

How would things be this year? She'd been unsure, over the summer and even at Grimmauld Place, of where they stood. He had seemed fairly affectionate at the Black residence, but Hermione wasn't stupid – it was always different to be affectionate in front of people you didn't know, or didn't talk to. It said something.

Hermione had long gotten over her jealousy of Cho Chang – who walked past them just then, smiling at Harry – after being assured that her and Cedric were simply friends, but it seemed unrealistic that Cedric would date her _seriously_. They'd been through a lot together, definitely, and saved each other's lives, for sure, but that didn't magically mean they would date – after all, Hermione had saved both Ron and Harry's lives, and they her, and she wasn't dating either of _them_.

 _Stop being daft,_ she berated herself as the bell tolled for Potions and they scurried inside before Snape could accuse them of being even a second late. _How much more evidence do you need to realise he likes you?_

The cold, terrifying look Snape gave the three of them as he swept in banished all thoughts of the seventh year Hufflepuff from her mind.

The lesson was, as they had predicted, hard and tedious. Harry, bless his poor soul, had forgotten his hellebore syrup, and the ensuing humiliation at Snape's hands had left them all with a bad taste in their mouths.

"That was awful, Harry," Hermione sympathised as they joined him at the Gryffindor table, shooting him a concerned look. He hadn't had a potion to hand in at the end of the lesson, and so had left for lunch before her and Ron. She piled some shepherd's pie onto her plate. Harry's eyes were bright with anger, and his jaw was clenched. "I'd hoped he might be a little less…"

"Evil?" Ron said, and snorted, "Unlikely. Looks like even being in the Order hasn't stopped him from being a git."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, although silently agreed with him.

"What?" Ron replied, gesturing wildly, almost spilling pumpkin juice everywhere, "Dumbledore's insane if he thinks Snape is on our side."

"I highly doubt Dumbledore would let Professor Snape into the Order if he didn't trust him," Hermione doled out, although she supposed it probably had more to do with the fact that Dumbledore probably found the Potions master useful enough to let Snape's permanent foul mood be forgotten. Hermione was intimately familiar with Dumbledore's tendency to let certain things slide when those involved were useful to him.

"Shut up, will you?" Harry spat out, "You're always arguing. I'm sick of it." And with that, he grabbed up his bag and stalked off, furious.

"What's with him?" Ginny asked, sitting down opposite Hermione and Ron and grabbing a toasted sandwich from the pile in the middle of the table. She'd obviously just passed Harry on his way out.

"Snape." Ron said, like that explained it. At Ginny's look of understanding, it seemed to.

"Well, he better shape up in time for Defence," Ginny started after a few bites of her lunch, "Umbridge is a _nightmare._ "

"Really?" Hermione perked up, curious.

"Everything is straight from the text book. 'Wands away, we won't need them!'," Ginny's shrill imitation of their Defence teacher made Hermione chuckle, even if she couldn't know whether or not it was accurate.

"I love Herbology," Cedric huffed, suddenly appearing. He landed heavily next to Hermione, reaching over her for the shepherd's pie dish and scooping some of his own onto a plate, "But it's _dirty_ as hell."

Taking a closer look, Hermione saw smudges of dirt on his face. The cuffs of his white shirt were dusty with dirt underneath his robes. His hair was mussed, and there was a faint sheen of sweat behind his ears, where his hair curled over them. He looked positively adorable.

Lunch went on as such, with all of them discussing their classes. With twenty minutes to spare until they'd be ushered off to their respective lessons – Hermione had Ancient Runes, Ron had Divination with Harry, Cedric had Transfiguration and Ginny had Herbology – Ginny went to leave.

At Hermione's questioning look, she gave a sigh.

"Someone's got to tell Harry to get a grip. If he goes into Defence like that, Umbridge will make life hell for him."

Hermione supposed that, if anyone, Ginny would be the most likely to get through to her green-eyed friend.

 

\---

 

Defence had been a disaster, and Harry's mood hadn't even been the biggest contributing factor.

"What's she playing at?" Ron said in aggravation as they got back to the common room. He dumped his book bag on one of the couches, scaring off a couple of first years. "No magic, giving Harry detention, saying V– _You-Know-Who_ isn't back… it's madness!"

Hermione pursed her lips as Harry joined his redheaded friend, putting his head in his hands tiredly.

"Things this year aren't necessarily going to be better, I've realised." Hermione said, sighing heavily. Just when things seemed to be looking up, Umbridge had to go and be hired.

"I don't know what Dumbledore is doing, letting her teach," Harry said angrily, his fists so clenched his knuckles looked white.

"I'm not sure he had a choice, mate," Ron said, calmed down some now that he was comfortable on the couch. "Hermione said at the Welcoming Feast that the Ministry are trying to interfere at Hogwarts, and Dad–" He stopped, looking around at the other students warily before continuing in a lower voice, "Dad said the Ministry's been denying _his_ return. Surely you've been reading the papers?"

Harry grumbled as if to say he had, but Hermione knew he'd been giving her _Prophet_ s the dirty look and it was unlikely he'd bothered after reading just one over the summer.

"Why'd everyone seem to believe Dumbledore last year, though, and not now?" Hermione pondered out loud, wondering why her house mates seemed disbelieving of everyone involved in the Graveyard. "I suppose the Prophet's lies haven't helped," Hermione supplied at Ron's raised eyebrows.

"Fudge has disliked Dumbledore for years," Ron stated, frowning in thought, "Thinks he's too powerful, that he wants to be Minister. My money is on the likelihood they've been convincing everyone he's senile in his old age."

As Harry opened his mouth to defend Dumbledore, the slight headache Hermione had been nursing the past hour reared its ugly head.

"Come on," She sighed, picking up her bag from where she'd dropped it on the floor, "Let's put our things away and head down to dinner."

They spent the evening ignoring the looks and whispers at dinner, scoffing down their food before returning to the common room. Hermione, amidst all the drama, didn't realise she hadn't seen Cedric since lunch until she went up to bed, homework completed.

 _Oh well,_ she thought tiredly, pulling up her bed covers and snuggling into her pillow with a yawn, _I'll talk to him tomorrow._

True to form, Cedric was at breakfast. Although, he looked a little worse for wear.

"What's wrong?" Hermione said upon approach. Her other two friends were still sleeping, no doubt, and so Hermione had come down to breakfast early. Cedric, surprisingly, was seated at the Gryffindor table, roughly five feet of empty space surrounding him. Although the Great Hall wasn't busy, they were still at the wrong end of the odd stare.

Cedric sighed, putting his spoon down with a clang into his cereal and pushing his hair back from his face.

"I _may have_ already gotten detention," He muttered, looking at her. Hermione held back a smile, attempting instead to frown disapprovingly. At a twitch of his lips, she wasn't sure she'd succeeded.

"Oh?" She prompted, buttering some toast.

"Umbridge was spouting out some real–" He paused at the look on Hermione's face, "– _hogwash_ yesterday."

"Is that why I didn't see you at dinner?" Hermione inquired before taking a big bite of marmalade toast.

"No, that was something else." He waved her off, "But I've got detention every night for the rest of the week."

"Lucky you," Hermione said coolly, but grinned shortly thereafter, "Harry's in the same boat. Looks like you two will be spending some quality time together."

Cedric huffed, pulling apart a muffin he'd recently grabbed from the table and popping a bite into his mouth.

"Some girlfriend you are," He said through a mouthful, and Hermione hid her smile in her pumpkin juice. The warmth that spread through her chest at a mere word was worrying, but understandable.

 _Girlfriend._ It was silly of her, really, to feel butterflies at such a proclamation. But after everything they'd been through such a simple teenage worry was a relief, in many ways. It seemed funny, though, that they hadn't ever been on one simple date. Although, Hermione realised, the first Hogsmeade weekend was bound to be soon.

"Diggory," said a voice behind her, and Hermione didn't bother to turn around. Ron's timbre was pretty unique.

"Ron," Cedric replied, nodding. His feet moved to sit between hers, a point of contact despite them sitting opposite one another.

"Not that I'm complaining," Ron said, swinging his legs over the bench to sit down, poking at some bacon and eggs with his fork before deciding on what he deemed to be the freshest, "But surely you need to be sorting out Quidditch practice?"

Quidditch. Hermione had completely forgotten. Of course, Cedric was Captain as he'd been the past two years – he'd have to put together tryouts and then organise practice. Such a trivial thing seemed inconsequential after last year, where Quidditch had been absent in the face of such a gruelling tournament.

"Good point," Cedric agreed, "I'll see you both later," He gave Hermione's shin a parting nudge before gathering up his things and walking around their table to the Hufflepuff one. Hermione turned to see his friends greet him with hesitant smiles. Hermione resolved to ask him about it later.

"Does he seem alright to you?" Ron asked, chomping on a strip of bacon. Hermione, having turned around to now eat some fruit salad, rolled her eyes at his manners.

"Yes, Ron," She said with bite, although not meanly, "He's fine."

Despite her assurances to both Ron and herself, Hermione didn't see Cedric much over the next week. She supposed it made sense – he'd mentioned Quidditch and coupled with the nightly detentions it was unlikely he had much free time at all. And after the looks on his Hufflepuff friends' faces, it seemed like he might have some apologising to do on that front.

And although she'd tried to get just one word out of Harry about his detentions, which he was taking with Cedric, he seemed very private about it, a dark look coming over his face whenever Hermione asked him. So she stopped asking, after the third one. He would tell them in his own time – as much as she loved Harry, he was too stubborn and too much of a martyr to ever complain so openly about anyone but Snape.

Defence was getting worse by the day. The others seemed just as disgruntled as she did, but more resigned. She couldn't settle – they wouldn't learn anything at this rate, and it was their OWL year! And Cedric had his NEWTs! Something had to be done.

It was with this mindset, and seeing Harry's clenched jaw every lesson – surely, he had to be grinding his teeth down to dust – that she thought of something. It was a little mad, but it would have to do.

"Harry," she begun tentatively one evening after dinner. She'd managed to help the boys with their homework, holding back on her more disparaging remarks and trying to remain positive. They were now sprawled across the couches. Hermione ignored the whispering of the Weasley twins near the noticeboard. As much as she wanted to discipline them, she was too tired – they had a will of their own and even if she berated them until she was red in the face, they'd still go and test their blasted inventions on younger students.

"Yeah?" Harry responded, yawning widely.

She bit her lip in nerves.

"I've thought about it, and I honestly think we might have to do something about Umbridge."

Both Harry and Ron perked up, the former looking eager to get revenge upon the Ministry woman for the detentions that made him surly each night.

"I was thinking; we could start a Duelling club of some kind."

"Duelling club?" Ron scoffed, settling back down into the couch with disappointment. "What good will that do?"

"Well, we'd be using magic for one, Ronald!" Hermione said shrilly, bristling at his disregard for her idea. At Harry's stormy look, she deflated, muttering an apology. "Look, we'd be practising some spells, at least."

"And who's going to run this Duelling club? And with what time will we attend it? If you haven't noticed, Hermione, but we're all stretched a little thin here."

Hermione glowered at her friend. Why was Ron being such a prat?

"Why are you being such a prat about this?"

Ron grumbled, any words indistinguishable.

"Just have a think about it, Harry. Promise me."

"I'll think about it," Her dark-haired friend promised, and it was with that that she bid them goodnight and headed off to bed.

"Wait, Hermione, look–"

She turned around. The common room was pretty much deserted; it being close to midnight. Most of the other students had given up and gone to bed, like Hermione was about to.

But Sirius Black's head was in the fireplace.

"Finally, you're alone. Good point about the Duelling club, Hermione, I reckon that's a great idea."

"Thanks," Hermione said softly, shocked.

"You've been checking the common room?" Harry asked, now kneeling close to the fireplace. "Sirius, we saw what the _Prophet_ said, they know you're in London–"

"You're starting to sound like Molly, Harry. Don't worry, I was careful. I just didn't know how else to respond to your letter without stuffing up my own meaning."

"You wrote to Sirius?" Ron seemed to recover better from his surprise than she had. Her tired brain was still working around the fact that Sirius found an idea of hers valuable.

_There's a first time for everything._

"Sorry," Harry really did look it, "I forgot to tell you."

"Tell me about Umbridge." Sirius prompted, and Harry began a tirade about what Hermione could guess was his least favourite Defence teacher ever. Hers, too.

Sirius was chuckling by the end.

"You're almost as bad as Remus – you should hear him talk about her, gets him in a right state."

"Professor Lupin doesn't like her?" Hermione asked, smiling at the thought of their gentle professor disliking anyone enough to complain about them.

"Definitely not. She hates werewolves, you see. Made it considerably harder a few years back for Remus to get a job."

After letting them know Hagrid was okay – Hermione, despite preferring Grubblyplank's lessons, missed having tea with the half-giant – Sirius was inquiring about visiting during the next Hogsmeade weekend.

"Sirius," Harry started off worryingly, "Didn't you read the _Daily Prophet_?"

Sirius scoffed.

"They're always writing about me. It'll be fine, Harry."

Harry exchanged an uneasy look with Ron, but Hermione realised now having looked a bit more closely at the Animagus – his hair was lank and greasy, his eyes looked sunken in like he hadn't got enough sleep in years (which was probably true), and his skin looked awfully pale… not to mention the emotion behind his eyes was a little disturbing – that Sirius was desperate to go outside.

"Next Hogsmeade weekend is the fifth, Sirius," Hermione told him, and tried not to pay too much attention to his immensely grateful look, "You better come as a dog, or so help me–"

Sirius grinned, agreeing before telling them he'd send a letter with the time and date of his next fire visit and vanishing with a _whoosh_.

"Hermione–"

"I know you're worried, Harry," Hermione begun, frowning, "I am, too. But Sirius is desperate for some company. Didn't you notice how tired he looked? And I bet you didn't talk to him before term like Ron and I told you to."

At Harry's guilty look, Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Lucius Malfoy probably recognised Sirius at the platform, but he won't be at Hogsmeade that weekend and no one but us knows about Sirius's… _abilities_. We've got to help him."

Harry sighed, but nodded in resignation.

"I'll see you both in the morning – think about the duelling club."

She turned around, and headed up to her dormitory.

 

\---

 

"I'm sorry," Ron said a few days later. It was lunch, and they'd just finished up in Transfiguration. Umbridge was High Inquisitor, and she had been inspecting their last few classes. Hermione hadn't even glimpsed Cedric in a week. "About the other day," He clarified at her blank look. "I just… the Duelling club has all sorts of issues."

Hermione looked around. They'd been early to lunch, the rest of their class present as well – McGonagall had gotten fed up with Umbridge and dismissed them before the bell. She lowered her voice anyway.

"It's not going to be a… Duelling club, per se." Ron frowned, confused. "I thought Harry might… might teach us."

"Harry?" Ron asked, surprised. He looked a lot more pleased at the idea than by the Duelling club, "He won't teach Slytherins, though."

"That's the point, Ron. It's not going to be an official club," Hermione explained, "It'll be… secret. A secret society."

"Wicked!" Ron mused, looking a lot more pleased. His bad mood of a few days ago suddenly made sense – he hadn't wanted to be the butt of any Slytherin jokester like Malfoy.

"He'll need a lot of convincing," Hermione pondered, thinking of how best to approach her best friend.

"Leave it to me," Ron whispered to her, before Harry and Ginny seated themselves opposite, laughing about something.

Ron didn't tell her whether he'd been successful until a week later, two days before her sixteenth birthday.

"It took a lot, but he's agreed." He muttered to her in the library. She should've known he'd suddenly decided to do his homework in its peace and quiet for an alternate reason. "We'll let people know the first meeting will be at Hogsmeade. Three Broomsticks?"

Hermione shook her head, ignoring the cold look of Madam Pince.

"No," she whispered, pretending to read the book in front of her. Snape was relentless with the essays, "The Hog's Head, it's not as obvious. Who do you think we should invite?"

"The other Gryffindors, I reckon," Ron muttered, also pretending to read, "Ernie Macmillan told Harry he stood by Dumbledore, so he's a safe bet. He probably has a few friends also in Hufflepuff who'd want to join."

Hermione nodded.

"I'll ask the same of Cedric. I know I haven't seen much of him, but…" Hermione bit her lip, "He'll want to help. His friends might come, too. Of course, the twins should join, as well as Ginny."

Ron agreed, and Hermione spent much of the next day organising for all of this, asking the relevant parties she had been allocated to. It wasn't until the morning of her birthday that she only had Cedric left.

It was like they didn't know each other, really. She had barely seen a hair of him the past two weeks. He always seemed to be rushing off somewhere. When was the last time she'd spoken more than a sentence to him? It left her feeling anxious, and alone. Umbridge's overbearing teaching made it all the harder to communicate if you weren't in the same house. Hermione realise now why a lot of students engaged in inter-house dating broke up. It was hard to maintain such an effort, even without Umbridge breathing down their necks at every opportunity.

Despite it being her birthday, double Potions put her in a foul mood. She hadn't had time to open her presents that morning, too tired to get up early. She'd have to open them before dinner, and hope she could catch everyone to give her thanks.

Hermione was glad she'd waited, however, upon seeing the gifts. There were more than she had anticipated. Harry gave her a Sneakoscope, which was thoughtful – he knew she was jumpy after the whole fake Moody debacle, which was ironic for she was sure he got the idea from Barty Crouch Jr himself about the object. Ron had given her a book about house elves – archaic and bigoted thought the book was, it would help to give insight into the creatures and their place in the wizarding world. If Hermione wanted to change things, she had to start with understanding how they were currently. The twins gave her their, apparently, first successful batch of what they called Puking Pastilles, a way to skive off of classes. Of course, it wasn't as if Hermione would be using them for their intended purpose, but she supposed she could see their usefulness in a sticky situation. The thought of Umbridge being especially awful made her stuff them in the pocket of her robes. Ginny had gifted her a few bottles of Sleekeazy's, much to Hermione amusement, with a note to use them wisely. Considering she'd have to use them all at once to achieve anything even remotely resembling her hair at the Yule Ball nearly a year ago, Hermione resolved to leave them at home over Christmas – her mother might get better use out of them.

Speaking ofher parents, whom she really needed to write to more often – they had given her a delicate cashmere jumper in a powder blue that made her think fondly of her baby blanket. It was delightfully soft, and terribly warm – perfect for the coming winter months.

Finally, the last present she had was from Cedric. Although, it wasn't so much a present as it was simply a card. A little miffed, but telling herself it was silly to feel that way, she opened the parchment to see his familiar neat print.

_Hermione,_

_I'm sorry things have been so hectic lately. Meet me in the kitchens around seven thirty, we have much to talk about._

_See you soon,_

_Cedric_

Trying to ignore the uneasy feeling that took over her at the words 'talk', Hermione stowed away her presents in safe places for later attention and, looking at the clock, swiftly made her way to the kitchens.

Tickling the pear, she did not expect such chaos upon entering.

"Miss, miss, you is needing anything miss?" The tiny voice was rushed, but still attentive. Looking around, Hermione saw that the elves were still cooking some things for the dinner that was currently being served in the Great Hall. Some of the elves were cleaning, muttering under their breaths about messy students with fondness.

"Oh, uhm…" Hermione stumbled over her words, unsure.

"We're fine, Mitsy. We'll let you know if we need anything." The small house elf squeaked in reply, bowing so low her nose almost touched the floor before skittering away to help her fellow elves.

Hermione turned, and saw Cedric smiling down at her. It was easy to forget how tall he was when she mostly saw him as they sat down somewhere – his inches on her were comforting, rather than intimidating. Hermione knew that if he wanted to, he could engulf her in his arms and she would be surrounded by his strong arms and sweet, treacle tart scent.

"Happy Birthday," He wished her, and his arms did just that. She wrapped her own around his middle, resting her bushy head on his chest with a happy sigh.

"Thanks," She said, pulling away. Her anxiety returned, however, gnawing at her throat like a question bursting to be asked. "You wanted to talk?"

"Nothing bad, I promise," He assured her, leading her with a hand on the small of her back toward the Hufflepuff table – of course, the kitchens replicated the Great Hall and so she saw her Gryffindor table right next to the Hufflepuff table.

"Just some roast beef, Mitsy, thanks!" Cedric called across the kitchens, and she saw a little hand do a thumbs-up before retreating back into the sea of elves. Amused, Hermione let loose a chuckle.

"They're still slaves," Hermione said, trying to be disappointed. It was hard, when the food smelt so good and the company sat so close.

"You really need to read up on house elves a bit more. Didn't Ron give you a book?"

Hermione's eyebrows raised, surprised.

"How did you know that?" She asked curiously, trying to catch his eyes. He was looking at his newly present roast beef with relish, however. Hermione suddenly felt her own hunger, growling at her in anger. She dug in.

"We talk." He said mysteriously. "Tell me about your classes."

Hermione, all to eager to explain how horrid Umbridge was and how worried she was about the state of things, managed to chat away heartily until she was scraping at the bottom of her bowl after a generous helping of apple pie.

"Look at me, I've talked myself silly." Hermione said, gesturing at the way she had spilt some of her apple pie and ice cream soupy mixture on her jumper. Luckily, she had a second Hogwarts jumper to rotate. "Where have you been the past few weeks?"

Cedric looked a little more serious at her question, the amusement at her clumsiness fading from his face slowly.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Firstly, I want to apologise."

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him that was redundant, but was beaten to it by his hand, which placed itself on her lips gently.

"I _do_ need to apologise," He rebutted her silent protest, "I haven't been around as much as you, or I, want."

He removed his hand when she didn't try to speak further. As soon as she did, she grumbled out her displeasure.

"It's not like I tried especially hard to find you, either." Hermione admitted, a little ashamed. She looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. Her uniform skirt was at her knees, and her tights hid her skin from view – but she still felt the warm emanating from Cedric's own trouser-clad legs. Their knees were knocking as they looked to each other, empty plates forgotten.

"We've both had things on our mind," Cedric explained, and his right hand came into view, nudging up her chin so he could lock eyes with her. Hermione gave a small smile, her own hand coming up to cradle his and he swept some hair from her face. "But I am truly sorry."

"For what it's worth," Hermione replied, leaning her head into his palm a little, "I am, as well."

"Apology accepted," He announced, smiling. The skin around his eyes was crinkling, his eyes themselves reflecting the warmth of the fireplace nearby. The chatter and banging of the house elves and their pots and pans felt far away, like they weren't even in the same room. "If only things with my friends had been as simple."

Hermione frowned as Cedric's hand dropped from her cheek.

"Your friends?" Hermione asked, "Ced?" She added, after he didn't continue at her prompting. She put her right hand over his, and squeezed reassuringly.

"That's why I haven't been able to see you," Cedric said, looking down at their entwined hands, "My friends, they haven't been exactly happy with me." He sighed, exasperated, "I tried to explain, I needed some space after Mum–" He went silent, taking a deep breath to compose himself, "But they mentioned how I was with you, and I tried to explain that things were different now, after the Final Task," Cedric looked as if he'd admitted too much, but ploughed on anyway, "We've got to be more inclusive than ever."

Hermione searched his eyes, wondering what he was thinking. There was something he wasn't saying, but it didn't seem important. In fact, Cedric merely looked as if he'd accepted it a long time ago, but wasn't sure whether she would. Well, she wouldn't push him. His comment about his mother had reminded her that he was still grieving and, in many ways, he always would be. He didn't talk about his father, and Hermione didn't particularly want to ask – Amos Diggory scared her with the way he could be callous about a lot of things that were so deeply sensitive.

Cedric would tell her in time, and when he was ready. If it were important or time sensitive, she would know.

"You're right," Hermione agreed, squeezing his hand again.

"I know," He said cheekily, and Hermione gave him a playful shove and a grin. "But I haven't exactly been living up to my word, so–" He straightened up, and looked her dead in the eye. She felt her cheeks grow flushed at his attention, still unused to it.

"Hermione Granger, will you go to Hogsmeade with me?"

Grinning so wide her cheeks hurt, Hermione nodded. Cedric's answering grin was obscured only because he leant forward, and placed his lips on hers.

It was weird, Hermione mused, kissing someone when you were both smiling. It was more teeth than actual lip, but still immensely satisfying. Soon enough, they both managed to abate their happiness to kiss properly.

Cedric's hands moved up to hold her head in place, skimming her jaw. Hermione's own rested on his neck and his side, and she shifted closer to ease the strain on her neck with the angle.

His lips were incredibly soft – a contrast to her own, chapped from hours of biting as she wrote essay after essay – and she managed to nibble lightly at his bottom one before he pulled back, his breath blowing over her lips for a moment in their close proximity.

It was with a strange sort of detachment that Hermione realised the kitchens was where they'd kissed for the first time, all those months ago. Maybe, at Hogsmeade, they could increase their tally.

"Damnit," Hermione swore, cringing out of Cedric's hold. His curious eyes held hers as he tilted his head in question, "Hogsmeade gets a bit more complicated."

"Are you going to explain or shall I just sit here waiting to be kissed?" Cedric said, a smirk on his face. Hermione rolled her eyes, but kissed him anyway.

After a few minutes she broke away, out of breath.

"Okay, no, I need to tell you," she said as Cedric's lips descended down her neck, sucking and biting.

"Mmhmm," Cedric prompted, and the hum wait straight into her neck, through her bones and down to her centre, which gave a small throb.

"Cedric," She started, but it sounded more like a moan. Her hand found his hair as his head came up, lips capturing hers once more.

He licked into her mouth, but she pulled away before she could completely forget what she had to tell him.

"There's a meeting," She said, breathing heavily. Her forehead rested against his, "At the Hog's Head."

"A meeting for what?" He breathed out, trying to connect their lips again. She drew back just enough to stop him.

"We've decided to have Harry teach us Defence," Hermione clarified, struggling to sound normal through her slightly swollen lips, "We're drawing up a member's charter during the Hogsmeade weekend."

Sensing the seriousness of the situation, Cedric pulled back, his hands falling from her jaw to settle comfortably at her hips, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles into her waist.

"I was wondering – I know you said you'd had problems, but you should invite your friends," Hermione suggested, and hurried to continue at his taken aback look, "Just the ones you trust the most. We need numbers, and it'll be good to mix the houses. If you could invite Cho, as well," Hermione added reluctantly, "Tell her to bring friends she trusts completely, too."

"I can do that," He said slowly, licking his lips. Hermione was distracted for a moment before giving her head a shake.

"Good," She said, smiling, "The meeting's at ten o'clock. Don't be late – we don't want Umbridge to catch even a sniff of what we're up to."

"I'll keep my silence, then," Cedric said warmly, staring at her lips.

"I suppose you will…" Hermione trailed off, distracted.

She didn't return to her dorm until nearly midnight, throat sore from talking and lips sore from… well, other things.

 

\---

 

The Hogsmeade weekend – the first weekend in October – dawned bright and early. Despite the cold wind, and threats of heavy rain from the dark, stormy clouds overhead, they managed to make their way into the village without having to use any drying charms on their clothes.

"Where's Sirius meeting us?" Harry inquired quietly as they took off their coats and scarves inside the door of the Hog's Head. Shady as it was, there were no students or teachers about – perfect.

"Here, of course." Hermione said. Ron had taken the liberty of informing Sirius of their meeting time – he'd been the only one in the common room late enough the night Sirius had last popped in. Although he had managed to gain a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as their new Keeper now that Wood had graduated, it meant that he had less time for homework. Subsequently, for fear of losing his place in the team, he was actually staying up late and completing it all. Hermione had been in awe, and proud. Ron could be studious, when he wanted to be.

"He's joining the meeting?" Harry said incredulously, drawing a few curious looks.

"Keep your voice down!" Hermione hissed quietly, smiling brightly at those who continued to stare. They looked away eventually.

"We thought – well, Ron thought, rather brilliantly actually–" Her friend's face grew red, "That no one would expect him to turn up here, of all places. Hiding in plain sight – it's genius, isn't it?" Hermione gushed, looking at Ron with appreciation. "Besides, Malfoy considers himself too good to come here. We'll be fine," She added at Harry's worried look.

"Come on," Ron muttered, leading them away from the door, "Let's head up the back. That's where I said we'd meet everyone."

Trudging around disgruntled wizards and witches alike, the three of them stopped by the bar to grab some Butterbeers before retreating to the back, in line of the door but not the first area you'd look if you walked in. They needed to be on the look out for Umbridge, but in sight of the others who had yet to join them.

"I'm surprised you didn't come with Cedric," Harry commented, taking a seat.

"He's on his way," Hermione answered distractedly, peering around a rather rotund witch to glimpse the door better. At the silence that followed, she looked back at Harry. "What?"

"Cedric's coming?" Harry asked, and he blinked owlishly behind his glasses as if surprised.

"Of course, Harry," Hermione said, "He saw Voldemort that night too, you know. Oh look," Hermione added, having turned back to the door, "That might be some of the others now."

And indeed it was. Neville was first through the door, a timid expression on his face despite leading his friends, followed by Dean, Lavender and Parvati. Parvati held the hand of her sister Padma, from Ravenclaw, who was followed by Cho and two of Cho's friends. Looking far too interested in their location, Luna Lovegood followed dreamily behind them. Ginny entered, chatting away to the Ravenclaw in front of her. Dean spotted the three of them first, giving a nod of his head as he led them all over. Behind Ginny, three Ravenclaw boys came in – Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot – as well as Ernie, who looked far too happy to be surrounded by such glum older wizards. Bringing up the rear was Cedric, and three of his Hufflepuff friends who, with embarrassment, Hermione realised she didn't know the name of, although she thought she might recognise one or two of them from the Quidditch team. As Captain, it would make sense that they were friends with Cedric that way.

Just before the door closed on him, Sirius slipped through – his black, shaggy fur could be seen as he was large dog. Cedric looked down at him, trying not to laugh.

"Just a few people, you said!" Harry hissed under his breath to Ron as Luna sat nearby, her radish earrings looking particularly… fetching. Sirius bounded over, nipping playfully at Harry's fingers before Harry resolved to pet him distractedly. Sirius had no shame. "How is this a _few_ people?"

"Well, mate, they all wanted to come," Ron said honestly after greeting a few of the Ravenclaws – he'd obviously invited them himself. "They all wanted to hear what you had to say."

"That's a right laugh," Harry said dryly, giving grim smiles to Cedric and his friends. Despite the grisly welcome, Cho was grinning at him brightly. Harry didn't seem to notice. Ginny had a dark look on her face, though.

"What am I supposed to say?" Harry whispered urgently as everyone seemed to quiet down at the realisation that they were all there.

"Just tell them why we're here, Harry," Hermione muttered out of the corner of her mouth, giving Cedric a thankful nod when he inclined his head toward his friends as if to ask 'This enough?'.

"Alright, alright!" A loud voice acquiesced. Their group turned to the door, where two tall redheads were walking in. "We'll give you your money later!"

A small first year looked cross but satisfied, turning around and leaving the Weasley twins frustrated at the door. They bustled over quickly, and once the patrons noticed who they were, they directed their attention elsewhere. It seemed they were infamous, even in the Hog's Head.

"Did we miss anything?" George said, looking around at the surprised faces.

"I don't think so, George. I think we arrived in the nick of time."

"Bravo!" George clapped his hands together, "Let's get on with it then." He and Fred both looked expectantly at Harry.

"Erm," Harry stuttered, now standing. Hermione nudged him forward. "Hermione had the idea that – rubbish as Umbridge is–" They were exclamations of agreement, which made Harry's sombre face break into a smile, "We should still be learning how to actually use defensive spells. So, we – _Hermione_ – figured that we could start a– a club."

There were murmurs amongst the group, and Hermione looked to Cedric for help.

He cleared his throat, causing all heads to swivel toward him. Harry looked grateful.

"Now that Voldemort–" Although the word was said quietly, the response around the group was immediate: Neville looked slightly constipated, Lavender had gasped loudly, a lot of the Ravenclaws were grimaced, and Cho seemed to have flinched. Cedric's friends looked taken aback, whilst the leftovers had gotten used to Harry saying Voldemort's name for years. The only person who didn't have a reaction was Luna, who just blinked calmly. "is back, we ought to know how to defend ourselves."

"Who's to say he's back, then?" A voice from behind the Ravenclaw group piped up. A shaky Parvati stepped aside so everyone could better see the boy – he was a Hufflepuff, probably in their year but Hermione couldn't recognise him.

"Who're you?" Ron said rudely, unimpressed.

"Zacharias Smith," The boy answered testily, looking displeased, "How do we even know he _is_ back? Dumbledore didn't tell us anything important."

"He told you enough," Cedric said darkly, taking a step forward. His friends pulled him back.

"That is to say," Hermione said hurriedly, standing. "Dumbledore told all of you what we told him."

"And that is?" Smith said snidely. Hermione was really starting to dislike him.

"That Voldemort was never dead – he's returned, stronger now than ever. I – I saw him, that night. So did Cedric. Harry… Harry felt him through his scar. This is _real_." Hermione emphasised at their shocked faces. "And if you don't believe it, if you've come here just to hear stories and proclaim they're false then you can leave."

No one moved a muscle, Hermione noted with satisfaction. That would make things easier when it came time to sign the magical charter. They couldn't have this getting out to Umbridge.

"Susan Bones. Is it true," said a friendly voice, and a few people shuffled around to reveal a pale girl with her black hair in a plait. Susan. "That you can produce a corporeal Patronus, Harry?"

Harry looked a little surprised to be addressed so directly, but nodded slowly.

"Er, yeah, it is." There were more mutters around.

"Wow," Hermione heard Lavender say quietly, and she couldn't help but agree.

"Harry!" Lee Jordan exclaimed. Where were all these people popping up from? "Blimey, that's incredible!"

Harry looked deeply uncomfortable.

"And did you kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" Terry Boot asked, his face awed, "One of the portraits told me when I was in there last year."

"Yeah, I did." Harry was looking a little more confident now, but still too uncomfortable for Hermione's liking.

"He also helped protect the Philosopher's Stone in first year," Hermione piped up, ignoring the betrayed look Harry shot her. Serves him right, being a hero all the time.

"Not to mention all those tasks in the tournament, last year." Ginny said, and Harry flushed slightly. "The dragon, the merpeople! Hermione did the maze, though. Cedric, too. Both of them faced Voldemort and survived!" There were impressed mutters about, and Hermione desperately tried to steer the conversation away from her. This was about Harry.

"Look," Harry started, saving her the trouble, "That all sounds great when you say it like that, but all of us had help every time. Without Ron and Hermione, I wouldn't have been able to get to the Philosopher's Stone at all. A house elf helped me with the second task – I mean, it's not hard! You've just got to learn!"

And there it was. Hermione had a triumphant smile on her face, she was sure.

"That's the reason we're here, Harry. We all want to learn."

"And pass our OWLs," said one of the Ravenclaw boys under his breath.

"So we're all agreed?" Ron prodded, looking around at all of them, "We want Harry to teach us?"

Everyone looked eager, save for Smith who seemed wary about the glares the Weasley twins were giving him.

"We need to meet regularly for it all to stick," Hermione began.

"We've all got Quidditch to consider," Cedric said as it looked like Angelina Johnson had something to say about it, "but this is important."

"Hear, hear!" Piped up Ernie.

Sirius gave a bark in agreement. A few of the students, only just now noticing him, looked confused at his presence.

"Er," Harry said jerkily, trying to explain. Suddenly, a previously hooded wizard shot up out of his seat, staring at Sirius with horror, his face pale. A finger came up, pointing.

"Sirius Black! BLACK IN HOGSMEADE!"

Everyone looked around, and Hermione shared a terrified look with Harry and Ron. Sirius couldn't be caught – it would ruin everything. Harry would be devastated and Sirius… he would undoubtedly be given the Kiss!

"What are you on about, William?" The wizard's companion asked incredulously as the patrons all shared scared looks and murmurs, heads peering around for a look at the fugitive.

"BLACK! BLACK IS HERE!" As the crowd grew louder and more upset, Hermione put her hand into her pocket for her wand in case of an emergency when–

_Puking Pastilles._

"Take this," Hermione whispered fiercely, striding over quickly and pushing one of the Pastilles into Cedric's gobsmacked hands. His eyes bounced between hers for a second before he shoved the candy in his mouth, and suddenly turned unbelievably pale. Turning around, he puked all over William and his friend.

"Eugh!" The witch made a noise of disgust, shaking off some bits of vomit from her sleeve.

"Sirius," Hermione bent down to the dog, " _Go._ "

"Black is here, I see him!"

Sirius trotted away out of the pub, out into what looked to be a rainy day.

"Oh shut up, William. Oh no, not again–"

William was now coated in the vomit, officially distracted.

"Cedric, are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Get your friend out of here!" screeched the woman, knocking over her Firewhiskey to avoid another spray of vomit.

"Sorry," Cedric mumbled miserably, holding his stomach. He puked again all over the floor, his hands now trembling as they wiped at his own mouth.

"Come on," his friends urged him, tugging him toward the door. "We'll take you to the hospital wing."

A few minutes later, now that William had disappeared out of the pub with his friend cursing at him, Hermione announced the need for a list of names.

As everyone signed, she looked at the list of names with a sense of achievement. Nearly thirty names. Much better than she had anticipated. And if they gained more members after their first meeting, they could have over thirty soon enough. Things seemed promising.

"I hope Diggory's okay." Lee said in passing as he and the twins left the pub. They were leaving in groups a few minutes apart to avoid suspicion. With all the drama surrounding Sirius, surely they would not be the talk of the weekend.

"You better give him the antidote soon, Hermione," Ron said out of the corner of his mouth, clapping Neville on the back in farewell as he left with Luna and Ginny.

"Yeah, I'll head up as soon as I can," She muttered back, thinking up all the ways she could repay her boyfriend. She just hoped the antidote would work…

"I think that went well, don't you?" Hermione surmised once everyone else had left and they had finished their Butterbeers, allowing a little more time between them and Dean and Parvati, who'd looked awfully cosy leaving the dodgy pub together.

"Yeah," Harry breathed out, sighing as if in relief, "Weird about that guy and Sirius, though."

"We'll have to ask him about it," Ron said, and Hermione knew he probably felt bad about suggesting Sirius join them in the first place. At Harry's frown, she decided she'd comfort her friend later.

"I hope you noticed something, Harry," Hermione said, smiling slightly as she thought of what she was going to say.

"Hmm? And what's that?" He said distractedly, gazing at Honeydukes as if deciding whether or not he should enter.

"Ginny couldn't stop smiling at you."

Harry looked completely amazed. Ron was spluttering.

"What has that got to do with anything?" He demanded with heat.

"Oh honestly, Ron, don't be so obtuse. Ginny's liked Harry for years."

"Yeah, but," Ron was floundering, looking for something to say, "She's never done anything about it!"

"That's because she didn't _know_ him properly."

Ron continued to rebut her as they headed into the sweet shop. Before she departed, telling them she needed to give Cedric the antidote, Hermione couldn't help but notice the giddy look on Harry's face. Ron was oblivious.

 _Ah,_ Hermione thought with a grin as she tucked her hands in her robe pockets to fight the wind and light rain.

_Young love!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this was a long one. A lot to say and a lot to do. I’m trying to get the ball moving because much of the events are so dull, especially when you know what’s going to happen as you guys do. A few things have been changed, obviously, to take into account what I want to happen for the rest of the story, but also all the events that have already happened to Hermione – you might notice a lack of feverish belief in house elf freedom… I think Hermione would have mellowed out a little after seeing Voldemort. It’s all going to have an effect – hence, “The Butterfly Effect”.
> 
> No Snape in this chapter – R.I.P. Alan Rickman, you will be missed.
> 
> Send me your thoughts!


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